Voice of an Angel
by broadwaygirl818
Summary: "Why have you brought me here?" I inquired nervously. "Christine," he said, meeting my eyes pleadingly. "I… I love you." MODERN DAY. Leroux-based kidnapping, EC.
1. Prelude: Comfort from Heaven

**This is my first fanfic, and I love it like scientists love guinea pigs (of course, I DO cherish it more than scientists cherish their specimens, but I digress). I'm currently going through the final editing process, so p****lease review, even (and especially) if you don't like what I have written. If this is the case, please private message me with your ideas and/or suggestions of how my writing can be improved. Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters in it.**

**Prelude: Comfort from Heaven**

Someone was chasing me… I ran into a crowded room, screaming for help, but although people surrounded me, no one came to my aid; they didn't seem to hear my cries… closer, closer, my pursuer came… he started reaching for me with his horrible, skeletal hand…

My eyes flew open right as the hand grabbed me. Breathing heavily, sweating, and shaking, I looked around the room. All was quiet and still. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm my frightened mind.

While some people think that a vivid imagination is a gift, I sometimes think it is more of a curse than anything; it's certainly nothing to be tremendously thankful for possessing. When people have wild imaginations, they become frightened easily, and consequently, it doesn't take much for their imagination to run away with them. On top of all this, vivid imaginations are twice as powerful.

I happen to have a very vivid imagination.

I'm sorry, I've been carrying on so. I began this narrative not to tell of the

side-effects of a strong imagination; rather, I began this narrative to document the strange – and perhaps unnatural – events that occurred shortly before my nineteenth year which forever changed my life.

As I lay cowering in my bed unsuccessfully trying to calm myself, I suddenly heard a voice… _his _voice. The voice of an angel, sent to comfort me from my own self.

_"Christine… Christine…"_ was his soft, gentle whisper. I turned my tear-filled eyes heavenward and whispered, "Oh, Angel, I'm so afraid. Please send me comfort."

"Child, why do you fear?" was his reply.

"I've had a nightmare," I answered. Though I would have felt extremely foolish giving such an answer to anyone else, I could tell my angel anything – my accomplishments, my fears, and my dreams – with an absolute certainty that he wouldn't think me silly.

"What is a bad dream?" he now said. He asked me this in such a gentle, soothing tone of voice that I began to see how safe I was, seeing as he, an angel, was watching over me. "It is not a certainty of something that will happen," he continued in that same soft voice. "Nor is it something that can bring you harm. It is only a dream. Close your eyes, child, and fear no more."

I closed my eyes. Instantly, I felt my fear being replaced with peace. Just one word from my angel was enough to surround me with a comfort that I knew could never be found anywhere else, though I cannot explain how I knew this.

Who was this angel? At the time, I knew not. He kept his name and face a mystery to me. All I knew as I drifted back to sleep was that he was there, protecting me, and I was safe.


	2. The Strange Voice

**Chapter 1: The Strange Voice**

_**Christine**_

My full name is Christine Elizabeth Daaė. I think I was named after my father's mother; I'm not exactly sure. Of course, with a last name like _Daaė, _I was a constant target for teasing ever since I started the first grade. I liked my first name, though. I, with my little-girl foolishness, thought it sounded like a princess name. My father's habit of calling me a princess certainly didn't help my childish ego. Come to think of it, I was a very spoiled little girl. My father showered me with attention, and I greedily drank it in large gulps.

Although I was born in Florida, I was not raised in that state. My mother was a business woman, and her job required her to move every few years or so, and wherever she went, I had to go as well. I wouldn't have minded moving so much if she would wait until the beginning of the school year. Having to go to a new school was bad enough without joining the student body mid-year. Cliques and in-crowds had already been established by the time I reached each new school, so I didn't form any real friendships. However, after we moved to New York – the third state we had moved to in the past five years – she promised me that we wouldn't move again until after I had graduated from high school. I was fourteen years old.

The relationship I had with my mother was very distant. She worked long hours, and when she was home, she hardly said a word to me except to chide me about something I hadn't or wasn't doing to her satisfaction. I can hardly blame her; she was always unappreciated by her boss and she was given a great deal of stress and hardship wherever she worked. I wasn't necessarily the cause of her troubles; I was merely the recipient. When I look back now, I realize that she started pushing me away after the death of my father. You see, when I was nine years old, my father was killed trying to prevent a man from highjacking a friend's car. His death hit me rather hard, as he was my best friend and hero. Still, I was never close to my mother, even when he was alive, and after his passing, I suppose that my mere presence was too painful for her to bear. My parents fell in love in high school, and they married just a few months after graduation. They had been each other's life. Even worse for my mother was that I resembled my father; I had his same blue eyes and pointed chin. Furthermore, I acted so much like my father, for he was the one who taught me to sing when I was very small, and I - in my young age - comforted myself by constantly singing all of his favorite songs. So, she avoided me to avoid further heartache.

I was a very shy child growing up. I obeyed orders quietly and worked hard to please everybody. My most ambitious goal was to remain invisible at my high school, and my wish was granted. As a result, I had no enemies; yet, because of my tendency to do everything within my power to remain unnoticed, I had very few friends. However, I had one best friend: Meg Giry. She was everything I was not: bold, popular, and stunning. I was never jealous of her - we were far too close for such petty feelings to come between us - but still, I sometimes found myself feeling insignificant when I was around her. I had very pale skin, a tiny figure, and blue eyes that seemed too large for my face. It was not so with Meg; she had dark eyes that sparkled with mischief, long, luxurious dark hair, a winning smile, and a tall, graceful build. She was perfection itself, whereas I was merely her plain best friend.

Since I had no siblings, few friends, and a mother who was seldom home, I was rather insecure. I never took risks and I feared anything that might bring about change. So, my life was very average, and nothing unusual ever presented itself. My life was, well, gray and bleak as a rainy day, and I, with my limited perspective, was content for it to remain that way.

When Meg and I were sixteen, we started working for a small, independent theater. We were only chorus members, but I, at least, was happy, although I have doubts as to Meg's contentedness. I, however, have always loved musicals, and to be even a small part of a production exhilarated me. I didn't care for limelight; I only wanted to be a part of the theatrical family.

It was through this theater that I first became acquainted with the one who would change my life forever.

One night, after the theater was closed, I was walking out to my car with Meg. Right as we were about to leave, I noticed that I had left my folder inside the building. Meg agreed to wait until I retrieved it, as we were planning to go to Starbucks to study for the anatomy mid-term that was taking place the following week. As I went inside, I almost bumped into Mr. Harper. Mr. Harper was the janitor, and he was a strange, creepy old man. He was known to be the cause of a good deal of practical jokes, especially the ones that were played on the chorus members. He hadn't ever given me a reason to distrust him, though, so I usually paid him no mind. Still, he gave me the creeps the way he glared at people and seemed to know what they were thinking, even if he didn't know them.

"Oh, excuse me," I apologized, anxious to move past him. He, however, stepped into my path before I could escape.

"You forget something?" he asked.

"Yes sir, I forgot my folder." _Please, leave me alone, _I silently added. _I want to go home._

"Well, I'm setting the alarm, so you need to be out of the building in ten minutes." He then – finally! – moved out of my way so that I could go backstage.

"Yes sir. Thank you!" I called over my shoulder. Then, I ran behind the stage. My folder was on the stool I had been using, and as I picked it up, I suddenly heard a voice, a faint whisper in the dimly lit building.

"_Christine… Christine…"_

"H-hello?" I stammered. Then, with a bit more bravery, "Very funny," I called, thinking it was Mr. Harper playing one of his infamous pranks. "I'll be out in just a minute!" Goodness, that guy was so strange that it was incredible! I briefly wondered why he wasn't currently being held in some kind of mental facility, but my thoughts were interrupted.

"_Christine…" _My heart started beating rapidly as I realized that the voice I was hearing didn't belong to Mr. Harper. I quickly grabbed my folder, but before I could rush off to Meg and safety, the voice spoke once again.

"Christine…" The voice was louder this time.

"What do you want?" I asked, now truly frightened. "Who are you?"

"I am the Angel of Music," was the mysterious voice's reply.

An angel. Right. "What do you think I am, a child?" I demanded.

The voice laughed, and I felt shivers creeping down my spine. The laugh sounded cold and unnatural.

"Christine, you are a child. I want to teach you to sing."

"Teach me… to sing?" This wasn't what I had expected… not that I would know what to expect when a mysterious voice starts talking to you.

"Yes. Your voice is weak and you don't know how to properly support it." At this, I began to protest. "But," the voice continued as if it had not heard my interruption, "if you dedicate yourself, and if you use all of your energy, you could learn to sing in such a way that all of the others will sound inferior to you. You have much potential, but unless you are taught correctly, you will never rise to what you can be."

I stood, stunned, thinking the matter over in my head. On one hand, I knew nothing about this voice or its owner. On the other hand, I desperately wanted to one day stand onstage and sing.

"Why are you making this offer to me? You don't even know me."

"Christine," the voice sounded impatient now. "Do you accept my offer or not?"

Any normal person would have said no. Any other person would have run out of the building and never have darkened its door again.

Yet, I was not any other person. I was a foolish young girl who wanted to sing, and I was dumb enough to accept an offer from a person that I absolutely had no knowledge whatsoever about who he was or what he wanted, or even more important, what motives were behind his offer. My desire to sing erased all of the common sense that I possessed.

"Do you accept?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

The voice sighed. "Very well, then. You must come backstage every night after everyone else has left. The door will be open…" he seemed to sense what I was going to say, "and the alarm will not go off. You will be the only person in the building. Is this clear?"

"Yes," I answered. "Why are you doing this?" I asked once again.

Silence. "Hello?" I called, panicking. (Oh, how I hated it when he made me think that he had left! He did this rather frequently, and it never failed to irritate me.) "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Christine, I'm here," the voice answered..._ finally! _"I think we should save this discussion for another day. Now," he continued before I could argue, "I believe you have about one minute until the alarm goes off. You had best be on your way before the police come to catch a thief and instead find you. That would be horribly inconvenient for them."

I started for the door, folder in hand, when the voice suddenly stopped me once more.

"One more condition, Christine," the voice, or rather, angel, said. "You must not tell anyone that you are under my tutorage or lessons will cease."

_Yeah, as if anyone would believe me, _I thought to myself. Then, aloud, "I understand."

"Goodnight then, child." With that, I didn't wait to hear if he had anything else to add; I ran for the door, only slowing down when I was almost viewable by my best friend.

As I walked through the door, Meg rushed over to me and said, "Christine! I've been waiting almost ten minutes now." She placed her hands on her hips dramatically. If I had not just come from a very abnormal and frightening conversation with a person that I couldn't see, I would have laughed at her. Her accusation was rather unfair, as I had often waited on her much longer than ten minutes while she fixed her hair or applied more (and unnecessary) makeup. As matters stood, however, I wasn't in a humorous mood. She then asked me, "What took you so long? Could you not find your folder or something?"

I looked over my shoulder at the theater as my head tried to sort out what had just taken place. Too many thoughts were rushing around at the same time. So, I just turned and smiled weakly at my friend and replied, "Nothing."


	3. First Sight

**SURPRISE! ^_^ I was originally planning to write a companion story told from Erik's point-of-view, but I decided it would be better to simply add some new chapters. I hope you guys enjoy seeing things from his perspective. **

**Chapter 2: First Sight**

_**Erik**_

"Why am I a patron of this establishment again?" I grumbled under my breath. Indeed, the prestige of the theater was slowly declining, and I was ashamed to have my name associated with it. I had a reputation as a musical genius, and the blasted managers seemed to be doing everything within their power to tarnish that reputation. Disgusted, I turned to leave. I could not take it anymore; I was going to pull away from the company and let it sink its own boat. As I expertly crept through the hallways behind stage, I could hear the giggling of the chorus girls and minor actresses. I shook my head. _Foolish brats, all of them. They are one of the reasons my theater is dying. _I continued walking, wanting to distance myself between from the amateurs.

"_Roses whither away_

_Like the sunflower _

_I yearn to turn my face to the dawn_

_ I am waiting for the day . . . "_

I stopped and tilted my head. Yes… above the chatter and sounds of rehearsal, my sharp ears heard a voice. As I continued to listen, I realized it was a feminine voice. _Whose voice is that? Did the managers hire a new singer without consulting me first? _As illogical as it was, I bristled. There is nothing I hate more than my managers acting without my consent. Angrily, I began to make my way towards the voice. I needed to see who exactly I was going to have the managers dismiss.

_Midnight _

_Not a sound from the pavement _

_Has the moon lost her memory? _

_She is smiling alone _

I continued forward. I could hear the voice more clearly now… but wait! What was _this? _The more I heard the mysterious figure sing, the more I wanted to stop and listen! Frowning, I paused.

_Memory_

_ All alone in the moonlight _

_I can smile at the old days _

_I was beautiful then _

_I remember the time I knew what happiness was _

_Let the memory live again…_

Finally, I reached the dressing room that inhabited the voice and pressed my ear to it, my heart beating erratically.

_Daylight _

_I must wait for the sunrise _

_I must think of a new life_

_ And I musn't give in _

Listening was not enough anymore… I had to _see _her. Moving as quickly as I could, I entered through a secret hallway - being an architect opens so many possibilities - and finally, I reached the mirror. For a reason I still cannot fully understand or explain to this day, I had installed two-way mirrors in all of the dressing rooms, as I had thought it would be some way to entertain myself (not that I ever saw anything inappropriate; I always left before I witnessed the banal actions of mankind). What I saw threw me.

A young girl - surely she could not have been any older than her mid-teens! - was brushing her golden hair. She had porcelain skin and large, blue eyes. She was very pretty, but that is not what caught my attention. A slight smile was upon her pink lips as she quietly sang to herself.

_Touch me _

_It's so easy to leave me _

_All alone with the memory Of my days in the sun _

_If you touch me _

_You'll understand what happiness is!_

Her voice! I leaned against the wall in shock. True, she desperately needed training and to be exposed to more than just _Broadway _show tunes… but her _potential! _She had the voice of an angel. I needed to arrange for her to have a vocal coach… I stopped and listened again. _No, _I swiftly decided. _I cannot allow just anyone to teach her. _And, the more I listened, the more I became convinced that I alone could make her voice reach its full promise. What I could not do with that voice! She would be famous… yes, I would train her and she would show the world that it was wrong to discard me.

"Christine?" The dressing room door opened, and another young girl entered who I recognized as little Meg Giry. "It's almost time for us to go over the choir numbers."

_Christine..._

"Coming," the blond replied. Even her speaking voice was beautiful! I was loathe to see her go, but I knew that it would be better if she did not see me. No... the young girl would never see me. I would see her, but I would remain unseen, like... like an angel. An idea entered my mind. _I will be an Angel of Music. _A cynical smile touched my lips. A demon playing an angel. How very ironic.

Reluctantly, I turned to leave. It seemed I would be continuing to be involved in the theater business after all.


	4. Distance

**Chapter 3: Distance**

_**Christine**_

That night, I couldn't sleep. I hadn't been able to focus on anatomy, but that wasn't what was laying so heavily on my mind. My lack of concentration had surprised and perhaps even worried Meg, as I was usually the studious one and she was more preoccupied with having fun. I just couldn't stop thinking about the so-called angel I had spoken to at the theater. These are the thoughts that consumed all of my hopes of slumber. Who was this mysterious teacher? Was he a friend or a foe? Why had he kept himself hidden from me? Why, out of all the extraordinary singers employed at the theater, was I graced with his favor - or more frightening - cursed with his disfavor? Above all else, most distressing was the question, _"What does he want from me?"_

Even after sleep finally came, I had troubled myself so much over this situation that sleep was hardly a relief for me. My dreams were of a dark, shapeless shadow covering me, and I was helpless to escape its utter blackness. I tossed and turned all throughout the night and woke more than once from the terror this dream provided. I would then find myself tangled in the covers and clutching my pillow to protect myself from the terrors that were in my mind.

I woke the following morning groaning. Suddenly, I threw the covers back and checked the clock as I sat up. 6:35 a.m.! I had slept through my alarm clock! I jumped out of bed and showered with lightening speed. Then, after I brushed my teeth, I threw on a pair of jeans, a green sweater, and my shoes. I grabbed my backpack (thank goodness I had finished my homework the night before!) and purse and then dashed down the stairs, nearly tripping over my feet in my haste. I checked my watch. The time read 6:47 a.m., which meant that I had about six minutes until Meg arrived to pick me up on her way to school. Although I had a driver's license, Mom had to drive the car to work every day, so Meg graciously transported me places without ever requiring me to return the favor.

About twenty seconds after I had finished applying makeup, I heard Meg's car horn from the driveway. I quickly grabbed a granola bar, a bottle of water, and an apple and ran out to the car. Contrary to my rushed preparation for school, Meg looked relaxed and very well put-together. She also, as I enviously noticed, looked very well-rested. _She _had obviously had a normal night and had dreamed lovely, happy dreams… the exact opposite of the night that I myself had just experienced. The thought somewhat irritated me.

As I slipped into the passenger seat and fastened my seat belt, Meg looked at me and said, "My gosh, Christine! You look like you didn't sleep at all last night!" She leaned closer in order to examine the dark circles under my eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Meg," I muttered sarcastically. I rarely used facetiousness, but I was rather annoyed at having a good night's sleep stolen from me by an unknown person that I had just become acquainted with the previous evening. Somehow, I found this rather unfair.

"Don't worry," she reassured me, although she was considerably taken aback by my use of sarcasm. "I'm probably the only one who will notice, anyway." She then turned from me and started the engine.

I know I should have apologized, but I simply turned away from her and pulled my wet, blond hair into a ponytail. I wish I had now, but I was upset that I couldn't tell her the reason for my tardiness. Meg and I never kept anything from each other. I was her confidante and she was mine. Yet, I couldn't tell anyone about this voice I had heard the night before. Not even Meg could know. I know I was crazy protecting someone I knew nothing about, but I still held my tongue.

The rest of the car ride passed in complete silence, as Meg sensed that I was in an unpleasant mood and I was too bewildered to even begin to explain my uncharacteristic behavior. If only this was the only situation of this kind to come across my pathway! Little did I know that my life would become more and more complicated, and that this distance between me and my best friend in the entire world, was only the beginning of my future isolation from the rest of the world.

o0o

The day steadily grew worse. Once, I fell asleep during algebra. I was saved only by Meg's quick jab to my ribs. Although I was left with a bruise, I was saved from humiliation. What if the teacher had called on me to answer a question? Now wouldn't _that _have been embarrassing? Meg was very generous to help me, considering the episode that had taken place earlier that morning.

I know I sound insane, but I was mesmerized by my new music teacher, even though I hadn't had a single lesson. I just wanted to sing. Ever since I was little, I had dreamed of one day becoming a famous singer.

While everyone else laughed at my ambitions, my father encouraged me. In fact, he used to be my music teacher. I can still remember the wonderful times we had sitting together on the piano bench while he taught me the tune and words of _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star._ Yet, when Father died, all of my dreams died with him, and I shied away from the world and developed stage fright as a consequence. I no longer wanted the world to hear me sing. The rest of the world could do whatever it wanted, as far as I was concerned.

I only wanted to sing for my father.

Still, perhaps this "Angel of Music" was somehow connected to my father. Once, when I was very little, Father told me that one day, I would sing so beautifully that people would believe that I had been taught by an angel. He knew that I wanted to sing. Maybe after he left me and went to heaven, he asked the Angel of Music to take me under his wing. That would be just like my father, doing whatever he could to protect me, even after he had left this world for the next.

Of course, I couldn't be certain that my new teacher was sent to me by my father. However, I did have one overwhelming thought:

I wanted to do what I know would have pleased my father. All I had ever really wanted was to please him. Now, I would honor his wishes.

I would learn how to sing.


	5. The First Lesson

**Chapter 4: The First Lesson**

My first music lesson was a complete disaster.

Since Meg obviously couldn't take me home that night, I borrowed the car of my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Valerius. She had always told me that I was welcome to use her car, as she herself rarely went out anymore, but I had always felt that I should refuse her offer. At least, I had felt that way until now.

That night after choir rehearsal, Mr. Harper was stacking the scattered sheet music. I waited anxiously for him to finish, checking my watch about every twenty seconds.

You see, I was afraid that my mysterious new teacher was all in my head, a figment of my imagination, if you will. What would that mean, that I was delusional? My fear increased with every moment. For heaven's sake, did Mr. Harper have to move so very _slowly? _ I started wondering if he was purposefully making me wait longer to discover if I was imagining that an unknown and unseen person who claimed to be the "Angel of Music" wanted to train my voice.

Finally, I said impatiently, "I'll pick up the rest for you, Mr. Harper. You can go home."

The old man jumped, and then, he glared at me, suspicion evident in his face. I didn't know why, but suddenly, I was afraid. Yet, right as my heart started to pound louder and faster in my chest, he suddenly shrugged, pushed the stack of music into my hands, and muttered, "Your call." He then started to stalk off, but turned back momentarily and added, "I'm setting the alarm, so hurry up and leave."

Oh, so now he was telling _me _to hurry? How very ironic. If he wasn't such a slow-poke, then I wouldn't have been forced to finish all of _his _work for him. How ridiculous!

As soon as he was out of sight, I tentatively called, "Hello? Are you there?"

Nothing.

I tried again. "Hello, it's me, Christine. Everyone else has left. I'm here for my lesson."

Silence.

I shook my head. Of course all of it had been in my imagination. As if a voice would really offer to teach me – of all people – to sing! The only voice I had heard was in my head. I smiled wryly. Perhaps I really _was _delusional. Oh, well. Now all I could do was put this sheet music up and leave the building before the alarm went off. With a sigh, I headed towards the storage closet to do just that. On the way, I switched off the overhead lights.

When I came out of the storage closet, I noticed that a single spotlight lit the stage. Huh. That was strange. I didn't recall _that _being left on…

"Good evening, Christine."

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of that cold, unnatural voice. Then, after I had taken several shaky breaths, I said, "Good evening. You didn't answer the first time I tried to call you," I added. Even to myself, I sounded as though I was pouting. That wasn't exactly the kind of impression I wanted to give him, especially since he already considered me child-like.

"Mr. Harper had yet to leave the premises."

"Oh." Well, didn't I just feel utterly foolish. I blushed. Suddenly, I remembered the alarm system.

"Don't worry, Christine. The alarm will not go off. Did I not tell you last night not to be concerned with the alarm system?"

I jumped again, feeling like a rabbit. Okay, that was a bit freaky…

"Shall we begin, Christine?" The voice asked, sounding impatient.

"Ready when you are," I replied. Somehow, I didn't want to know what would happen if I vexed this strange person… if he really _was _a person. Anyway, he already sounded displeased with me, which was bad.

"Go stand center stage."

"Center stage?" I asked, confused.

With what sounded like a frustrated sigh, the voice said, "Christine, you must become comfortable with being onstage if you ever wish to perform. Now, _go and stand in the center of the stage._"

I practically ran to the stage and stood in the exact center. I blinked rapidly and squinted due to the brightness of the spotlight. I struggled to see someone – anyone – out in the audience, but I saw nothing.

"First, you must warm up your voice," he said in a business-like manner. "We shall start with scales."

Scales were easy and simple. I had no problem with scales. So, why were my knees shaking at the very idea?

Out of nowhere, a piano began playing a basic scale. I hesitantly sang along, but after only a moment, the music stopped abruptly.

"Christine, you must sing out. I cannot hear you," my teacher said, growling more than speaking.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, a blush beginning to creep across my face and neck. Whether the voice heard me or not, I don't know. The piano started playing again. I sang along as loudly as my feeble voice would allow, but as a result, my voice cracked when I tried to sing a high note.

The music stopped again.

Heat burned by face. "I'm sorry," I whispered before the voice could speak. The way my lesson was going, it seemed as though I would spend the rest of the night apologizing. "That note is higher than I am used to singing." I could tell that I sounded like a four-year-old making petty excuses. Goodness, why did he have to make me feel like a little kid?

"'That note' was only middle B flat, Christine," the voice said with a mocking laugh. "Obviously, your voice is even weaker than I thought. We have much work to do."

I felt tears beginning to sting my eyes. How could I ever have thought that this voice was connected to my father? Father never would have criticized me so harshly!

My initial reaction would have been to turn and run from the theater and never return, but before I took a single step, the piano started playing once more. With a deep breath, I continued singing.

He kept me singing that night until my throat felt as though it was burning. Fortunately, he seemed aware that couldn't possibly sing another note. He at last told me to stop singing.

"Perhaps we should end for tonight, Christine," he said in the kindest tone he had used all night.

I nodded. "Do you want me to be here at the same time tomorrow?" I asked, my voice hoarse. I winced and rubbed my neck. _On second thought,_ I said to myself, m_aybe I shouldn't sing tomorrow._

"Yes, but please refrain from calling out to me until everyone has left the building. That was very foolish of you earlier." Then, before I could respond, "I think we should spend three hours working with your voice every weeknight."

"Three hours!" I gasped, swaying. "But how long did I sing tonight?"

"You sang for two hours tonight, since this was only your first lesson."

He was insane, crazy, if he thought that I was going to spend three hours every weeknight singing. There was absolutely no way. My vocal chords were completely exhausted, and I couldn't possibly sing for three hours if I came away with a hoarse voice after only two hours. I would be mute within a week! I would have preferred to keep my voice, so my only option was to not have any more music lessons… at least, not for a long time.

Now, how was I going to tell him this?

"I'll lose my voice!"

"Only during the beginning will you lose your voice. Your voice will gradually strengthen as you sing."

His uncaring tone stung me. "Maybe I shouldn't sing at all. It seems like a lost cause to me, anyway," I said mournfully.

"Do not be ridiculous!" He snapped. "This is only your first lesson. How does your throat feel?" he added with unexpected kindness. I blinked, surprised. Was it possible for angels to be bi-polar? Cautiously, I told him, "It feels like it's on fire."

"Rinse it with some warm salt water, then. Your voice will be practically as good as new."

I felt a little uneasy. "Why are you doing this for me? Why should I learn how to sing?" If I frustrated him so much, then why on earth did he want me to return? This made no sense to me.

A pause, then, "Sit down, Christine. I want you to hear something."

I sat on a nearby stool obediently.

Words can't possibly describe the song he performed for me. The notes sounded as though they were alive, filling me with the strangest, but sweetest, kind of elation.

Oh, but when he sang! His voice was the purest, most beautiful sound ever to touch human ears. I had never truly heard until he sang. I felt unworthy just to listen. When he sang, everything else faded. All I could remember was the sound of his voice. As the song progressed, I was astonished to discover that I didn't care that I couldn't remember anything else but his voice. Even more astonishing was that I was having a great deal of trouble remembering why I _should_ care.

When the song was over, I asked, a little breathlessly, "What song is that?"

"It is a song I wrote long ago," the voice answered, my teacher once again.

"Will you play some more of your music for me? It's so beautiful," I begged.

"No, but I will teach you my music and sing for you as much as you like once you have learned to sing in such a way that pleases me."

I frowned. "Then I'll never learn your music," I said sadly. I couldn't in a million years sing well enough to satisfy him, not with all of his demands and expectations.

"Yes, you will, if you completely dedicate yourself to me and my music." Then, suddenly, he said, "The hour is late, Christine. You should go home and rest."

"Wait," I said quickly. I took the following silence as encouragement to speak, so I hurriedly asked, "You really are an angel, aren't you?"

"I am your angel, Christine," the voice answered quietly. "Yours and yours alone."

_Mine and mine alone._ I smiled. "Goodnight, then. And, thank you for allowing me to hear some of your music."

"Goodnight, Christine."

Once I had gone outside, I went inside my borrowed car and checked my watch out of curiosity. I gasped. It was 10:45 p.m.! With a groan, I placed my head between my hands and thought of all of the uncompleted homework I still had to finish. I was going to have a difficult time staying awake at school the next day. Even worse, Meg was going to want to know why I was sleeping so poorly over the last few nights.

Then, I remembered the sound of the beautiful music that I had been blessed enough to hear. I thought of my teacher's words: _"I am your angel, Christine. Yours and yours alone."_ Like when my teacher had blessed me by allowing me to hear his wonderful music, I once again found myself not able to care about anything else.


	6. Endurance

**Chapter 5: Endurance**

The next day at school, I found my mind wandering again. I was constantly staring out the window, my head filled with the complicated situation I had entered. My history teacher noticed my absent-minded state and commented, "Now, if Miss Daaë will grace us with a moment of her concentration, she will read for us." I blushed as the other students laughed. At least, all of the students laughed, excepting Meg.

I tried not to meet Meg's eyes, but I could still feel her worried expression burning through the back of my head. This was the third day in a row I had found concentrating on my schoolwork difficult. The fact that I wasn't speaking in class wasn't what was bothering her because I never voluntarily spoke in class. Not even my daydreaming disturbed her, for even I would daydream during history. No, that wasn't what made her watch me so closely. Unfortunately for me, though, Meg was in almost every single one of my classes, so while none of my other classmates would have noticed my lack of concentration under normal circumstances, Meg definitely noticed.

This whole secret music teacher situation was going to be more complicated than I had thought. I hadn't given Meg full credit for her perceptiveness. How was I going to keep her from wondering what was causing me to act so unusually?

I had no idea.

So, I did all that I really could do: I avoided her. I hated seeing her injured expression, but I knew that the situation would only become worse if she asked me difficult questions that I couldn't answer. Furthermore, I was – and still am – an absolutely horrible liar. If she asked what I was doing after choir practice, I would be forced to lie, and she would be upset that I had been dishonest with her. She, above all people, would detect my falsehood, so there wasn't any hope that she would believe any story that I gave her. I thought that by avoiding her, I could perhaps spare both of our feelings.

That night's music lesson was both worse and better than the night before. The lesson was better only because I was I bit more rested than I had been during the first lesson, but it was much worse because my throat still ached. Let me tell you, singing with a sore throat isn't very fun, and though I complained to my teacher, he wasn't very sympathetic.

Oh yes, and my music teacher had a habit of being unmercifully degrading whenever he lost his temper. Once he was angered, he took a long time to calm down again.

He has never had a great deal of patience, so even something small can cause him to become furious. He has become stronger over time, but at the beginning… during the very first of my lessons, he would often drive me to tears by his harsh and careless criticism.

"No, no, no, Christine!" He shouted once in frustration. "I told you only yesterday that you must open your mouth in order to sing clearly. If you barely open your mouth, your voice will sound muffled. Did you not hear a single word I said last night?"

When I look back on how seemingly harsh he was with me, I can't begrudge him. I don't think he ever realized how cruel his words could be. Of course, I didn't come to this conclusion at the beginning; no, in the beginning, I was too sensitive and weak to understand him at all. I just saw that he was mean and far too harsh to be my teacher. I was used to being treated with gentleness, so I was rather unaccustomed to his raging and sharp words. His temper caused me to be terribly afraid of his wrath, and not without good reason, either.

I'm still to this day surprised that I kept returning every weeknight. Normally, I would have stopped after he first criticized me. Yet, something – and I can't explain why this was – drew me to him. Perhaps I was desperate for a connection with my father. I do know that this was deeper than my desire to sing… the connection between me and my new teacher was even more intense than my longing for my father. For some strange reason, my soul felt as though I should continue my lessons.

So, I endured my teacher's criticizing, and I somehow bore all of the expectations that he placed on me. Even during my first lessons, he had high expectations of me, and whenever I disappointed him (which was more often than my pride would like for me to admit), he would become very angry, throwing insults at me like, "No, you foolish girl!" or "Are you so dense that you forget everything so quickly?" I frequently fell short of his standards, and "trying" was never good enough for him. Once, he told me, "Do _not _try, Christine. Either do or do not, but never try." Most times, I would cry or hang my head, but occasionally, I would answer his critical remarks with words of anger. This would only serve to aggravate him further.

Yet, sometimes – though not very often – he would correct me in a kind, gentle, and voice, saying, "Let's try again, Christine. You will do it this time." He had his moments of extreme patience, and every once in a while, he would even give me a few words of encouragement. Those kind but rare moments, along with my beliefs of his connection with my father and my own fascination with him, gave me more than enough incentive to continue my lessons.

The following Friday, I was opening my locker at school when an envelope fell onto the ground. On the front was the name "Christine" written in a scrawled, hasty hand. I quickly grabbed the envelope and opened it. Inside was a note written in the same hand, and it said:

_"Christine,_

_These pieces of music are your homework assignments for the _

_weekend. I expect them to be memorized by your first lesson next week._

_I have included an audio cassette tape of the songs so that you can learn _

_them properly. Every week, you will find a new set of music and an audio cassette tape in your locker. Please avoid allowing other students to see them._

_Your humble servant,_

_The Angel of Music"_

As soon as I had finished reading the note, I crammed it into my backpack. I didn't want Meg to come up expectantly and ask to read it, or worse, claim that I had a secret admirer. "I don't have a secret admirer," I would say. "He's just an angel that's giving me free, unexplained voice lessons that last for three hours every weeknight at the theater." Then, she would ask for his name, and I would have answered, "Oh, I don't know his name, but he calls himself the 'Angel of Music.'"

For some odd reason, I highly doubted that she would have believed that excuse. Besides, I really didn't cherish the idea of giving my mysterious teacher yet another reason to be angry with me.

I looked inside my locker. Sure enough, three sets of sheet music were right next

to my history notebook. I glanced over them quickly, surprised to find that they were not very difficult songs. One was "On My Own" from _Les Miserables_, one of my favorite songs. I felt a smile begin to tug the corners of my mouth. Was this a coincidence, or had he purposefully chosen a song that I would enjoy singing? With that happy thought, I practically skipped to my next class.

That night's lesson was the best so far. My cheerful attitude and willingness to please my teacher seemed to make him more relaxed. He was a bit slower to criticize me, and when the rebuking came, it was less harsh.

After the lesson had ended, I asked my teacher, "Did you choose 'On My Own' because it's one of my favorite songs, or were you planning to have me sing it anyway?" I was half-expecting him to snap at me, so I was surprised when he answered my question seriously and calmly.

"I chose 'On My Own' because it is a good beginner song. Also," he continued after a slight pause, "I knew you would be comfortable with that song. Music should be enjoyable as well as educational."

Mostly educational, though, right?"

He laughed when I said that. Not his usual cold, mocking laugh, either. This laugh was warm and caressing. I must confess, I was very surprised, and the uncharacteristic warm sound confused and unnerved me. I was, of course, glad to know that he didn't think me a complete idiot, but in my opinion, the laugh was _too _warm – at least, it was too warm to be coming from my teacher – for my comfort.

"No, you silly girl," my teacher said, still in that same fond tone. "Music should always bring you joy, even when you are still learning."

"Oh, it does bring me joy," I said quickly. Then, "I should be going now. I don't want my mother to know that I have been out this late."

I heard a sigh from somewhere close beside me. I turned, but I saw nothing. My teacher laughed, seemingly from above me, but the warm, tender laugh which he had used earlier was replaced by a laugh that almost sounded sad.

"You are right, Christine. The hour is late, and your mother shouldn't have to worry about you." Before I could turn to leave, however, he asked, "You will return next week?"

Startled, I quickly answered, "Of course I will!" Still, I must confess that I was a bit pleased to hear that _he _was afraid that _I _wouldn't return. As if I wouldn't continue my lessons after finally reaching a relaxed point in our already unusual relationship! That would be completely ridiculous. I opened my mouth to say as much, but I closed it abruptly after quickly deciding that he didn't need to know my thoughts.

Another sigh, then, "Alright, you may leave. Goodnight, Christine."

Despite the questions forming in my mind, I left.

Later that night, as I was staring at the ceiling from my bed, I thought about his last words. He sounded so _sad_, and his voice said that he was sorry for me to have to leave him.

Looking back, I should have known that…

Well, I should have known.


	7. Companionship

**Chapter 6: Companionship**

Over the weekend, I faithfully practiced the musical pieces that my angel – as I had labeled him in my mind – had given me. The songs were surprisingly light and easy, as well as enjoyable. I never told him, but I had been expecting something impossible, like a piece from Handel's _Messiah. _Needless to say, I was very glad to be wrong.

If I wasn't singing, then I was thinking of my music teacher. When I went to bed at night, I would fall asleep humming the melody I had heard him play and sing, and I would dream of his music.

That Saturday, as I was going to bring in the mail, I spotted old Mrs. Valerius sitting on the porch of her house. I waved and then walked across the grass to her front yard. She smiled with delight as I approached.

"Hello, Christine. What brings you to my front yard?"

"I just decided to come and say hello," I answered.

"Well, won't you sit down?" She gestured towards a rocking chair near her own. I sat.

"Now, what's on your mind today, dear?"

I spent the next hour and a half carrying a conversation with her. At first, I only spoke to her because I felt sorry for her, having to live all on her own and all. However, as we talked and laughed, I began to feel more at home with this kind lady than I had felt since Father had died. As I stood to leave, I promised her that I would visit her again soon, realizing that I needed her company as much as she needed mine. So began my friendship with the lady who I would grow to call "Mama Valerius," the sweetest, most compassionate person I've ever been blessed to know.

Monday, I was in a very giddy mood. I was excited to have another music lesson that day. Aside from my singing and visiting Mama Valerius, my weekend had been rather dull, as Meg had been out of town. I was all smiles throughout the day, which seemed to relieve Meg, and she commented that she was glad to see that I was my usual self again. I wasn't my usual self, though; I was an entirely new person, better than my usual self. The only damper to my good mood was I had to tell Meg "no" when she asked me if I wanted to go to dinner after choir rehearsal with a few friends. This whole "avoiding Meg" ordeal was not working out for me. I missed my best-friend, and I almost gave in to her request. Still, the anticipation of seeing – or rather, speaking to – my music teacher again prevented me from being as sorry as I should have been.

I waited expectantly after rehearsal, and sure enough, I didn't have to wait long before I heard, "Good evening, Christine."

"Good evening," I answered happily.

"You came back," he said, sounding very joyful to see me.

"Of course I came back!" I answered, a little hurt that he would think that I wouldn't return. "I promised that I would, didn't I?"

He sighed, and then said, "Not everyone who makes promises keeps them. I am pleased to know that you are an honest girl."

I looked down, slightly bashful from his statement. "I practiced the music you gave me," I said. "I practiced very hard."

"Good. Are you ready to warm up?" He asked me, all business.

Ah, this was what I was used to hearing from him. "Yes."

My scales were much smoother than they had been so far. My teacher must have been very pleased, for he kept praising me. Of course, he was still quick to correct my mistakes.

After my scales, he had me sing the three pieces that he had assigned me, ending with the strongest, "On My Own." I faltered only a few times, and "On My Own" was almost flawless. As my teacher praised me, I said, "I didn't think my voice could be this improved in so little time. I thought it was hopeless."

"You have had an unbelievable amount of potential from the beginning," my teacher replied. "You still have a long way to go before you will be ready to perform alone, though."

"I know," I replied humbly.

"Christine, we are finished a bit early tonight, so I was wondering…" He paused, and then continued. "I was wondering if you would tell me about yourself."

"Tell you about myself?" I asked, confused. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he answered his voice eager. I must have looked uneasy, because he added, "Everything you are comfortable telling me, that is." He sounded as if he was restraining himself. I couldn't imagine why, as I didn't exactly find myself an extremely fascinating person.

Shyly, I began to tell him about my mother, Meg, Mama Valerius, my interests, my dislikes… to all this he listened without interrupting. I was starting to think that he had stopped listening, but then, he said thoughtfully, "Christine, this 'Mama Valerius…' she sounds as though she can be trusted. You may tell her about our lessons, if you wish, but you must not tell anyone else."

"Thank… thank you," I stuttered, surprised. "To be honest," I continued, "I've been dying to tell someone about you, but I knew you wouldn't want me to say anything." I secretly hoped that my statement wouldn't anger him. Our lesson had gone so well that I was overly-cautious about breaking our truce.

"Christine, you will always need someone that you can completely confide in," was his answer.

Funny words coming from him, considering what eventually took place.


	8. Crows and Butterflies

**Chapter 7: Crows and Butterflies**

_**Erik**_

The poor girl believed me far too easily. _Is she really that desperate? _I wondered as I watched her tremble onstage. I instructed her to sing a basic scale, and when her voice faltered on the middle B flat, I could not suppress my irritation.

"'That note,' I said harshly after she claimed that she could not sing that high, "was only middle B flat, Christine. Obviously, your voice is even weaker than I thought. We have much work to do." I half-expected her to walk out and never return, but she surprised me. As I began to play the scale again, she took a deep breath and sang. Obviously, her biggest problem was confidence.

I must confess that in the beginning, I might have expected too much out of her. I was so excited that I forgot that she was merely a child. But, I watched her like a preying crow watches a delicate butterfly before it tears its wings with its beak. I was about to have her sing another number when I noticed her rubbing her throat. "Perhaps we should end for tonight, Christine," I suggested.

She nodded gratefully, a relieved look upon her face. "Do you want me to be here at the same time tomorrow?" she asked. I winced. Her voice was hoarse. Something akin to guilt struck me, but I pushed it away with irritation. I was beyond the point of feeling guilt, and I especially was not going to allow a meager teenage girl make me feel it now.

"Yes," I instructed, "but please refrain from calling out to me until everyone has left the building. That was very foolish of you earlier. I think we should spend three hours working with your voice every weeknight," I added decisively.

"Three hours!" She paled. "But how long did I sing tonight?"

"You sang for two hours tonight, since this was only your first lesson."

"I'll lose my voice!" she protested. I raised an eyebrow. Was she truly going to argue with me? I had not expected such spirit from her. She was going to be harder to control than I thought.

"Only during the beginning will you lose your voice," I explained. "Your voice will gradually strengthen as you sing."

Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but she quickly closed it. Then, she said, "Maybe I shouldn't sing at all. It seems like a lost cause to me, anyway,"

_A lost cause! _How could she carelessly abandon music? She had a gift; she should be on her knees in gratitude for possessing such raw talent! "Do not be ridiculous!" I snapped. "This is only your first lesson." Her eyes were shining strangely, and as I peered closer, I saw a tear sliding down her cheek. _Is she really that sensitive? _Again, guilt clutched me. Perhaps she believed that her voice was terrible. I _was _being a trifle too stern. Going against my nature and wanting to make amends, I gently inquired, "How does your throat feel?"

She looked back up towards the balcony, where I was standing, and for a few moments, her eyes met mine, even though she believed that she was only seeing a spotlight. An obvious look if distrust and surprise was on her face, affirming that I had treated her unfairly. "It feels like it's on fire."

"Rinse it with some warm salt water, then," was my advice. "Your voice will be practically as good as new."

She shifted uneasily. "Why are you doing this for me?" she suddenly asked. "Why should I learn how to sing?"

She truly did not understand. But, how could I show her…

"Sit down, Christine. I want you to hear something," I ordered. Then, before I fully comprehended what I was doing, I began to play a song I had written a long time ago. In a few moments, my eyes closed and I was captured by the melody, forgetting that she was even present. Lost in the music, I began to sing.

Call me arrogant, but I have always had a compelling voice. I have made people weep, scream, and smile by simply singing. Like I stated earlier, I had forgotten that the girl was listening, and I unleashed the full power of my voice and allowed the music to carry me away.

Once the song ended, I was dragged back into reality by her soft, feminine voice. "What song is that?"

Shocked, I looked down to see her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed. Then, I saw her smile. She looked… awed. When I carried myself away with the music, I had carried her with me.

_She does understand._

"It is a song I wrote long ago," I answered. Randomly, I wondered if angels composed music.

"Will you play some more of your music for me? It's so beautiful," she begged.

I shook my head. _What have I done?_ "No, but I will teach you my music and sing for you as much as you like once you have learned to sing in such a way that pleases me," I promised. What else could I have done?

She pouted, and I smiled. She looked... _Adorable, my mind supplied. _Adorable? Where had_ that come _from and why did it make me smile? "Then I'll never learn your music," she sadly stated.

"Yes, you will, if you completely dedicate yourself to me and my music." Then, I realized what I had just said. _If you dedicate yourself to me? I do NOT need her to be dedicated to me. What a ludicrous idea! _I _did _need her to leave NOW. "The hour is late, Christine," I announced hurriedly. You should go home and rest."

"Wait," came her timid voice. Inwardly groaning, I waited for her to continue. "You really are an angel, aren't you?"

Her eyes were pleading with me to confirm the statement, to give her hope that her father was still watching over her. And, as I saw her innocence, I could not deny her.

"I am your angel, Christine," I answered quietly. "Yours and yours alone."

The smile she gave me was breathtaking, and I could not help but notice how lovely she was. "Goodnight, then," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "And, thank you for allowing me to hear some of your music."

"Goodnight, Christine," I replied faintly. Then, she turned away. As I watched her leave, I wondered, _What just happened?_

o0o

She improved with each lesson, her timid voice steadily growing stronger. Likewise, my interest in the girl grew stronger. I heard her humming "On My Own" from _Les Miserables _one day - she was still clinging to her _Broadway _favorites - and smiled. Late Thursday night, I snuck into her high school, picked the lock on her locker, and placed sheet music for three songs, along with an audio cassette tape containing the songs, inside the locker.

The following night, she was grinning ear to ear as she arrived for her lesson. Her good mood affected her singing in a positive way, and she had more confidence. As a result, I was easier on her, for she had never seemed happy to be there.

Once the lesson ended, she asked, "Did you choose 'On My Own' because it's one of my favorite songs, or were you planning to have me sing it anyway?"

_Ah… so that is why she is so happy. _"I chose 'On My Own' because it is a good beginner song," I answered automatically. But, I took it further. "Also, I knew you would be comfortable with that song. Music should be enjoyable as well as educational."

"Mostly educational, though, right?" she joked lightly, earning a chuckle from me. When was the last time someone said something for the purpose of making me laugh? Had anyone _ever _done that for me?

"No, you silly girl," I replied with… fondness, was it? "Music should always bring you joy, even when you are still learning."

"Oh, it does bring me joy." She looked abashed, as though she thought she had offended me. Trying to recover, she added, "I should be going now. I don't want my mother to know that I have been out this late."

I sighed. She turned spun around, trying to find me, and I laughed again, albeit sadly. "You are right, Christine. The hour is late, and your mother shouldn't have to worry about you." Then, before I could stop myself, "You will return next week?" I could not help it; I _had _to know if she would return.

"Of course I will!" was her surprised response. Again, her large blue eyes were searching the balcony, trying to see me, and during one fleeting moment of utter insanity, I wanted to cry, "Here I am! I am right here!" However, that is not what I said, and with another sigh, I released her. "Alright, you may leave. Goodnight, Christine." Thankfully, she left, but for one moment, I wished she had stayed.

o0o

I kept my eye on her over the course of the weekend. To my surprise, she faithfully practiced the pieces I had given her. Apparently, she took music more seriously than I initially thought. However, she spent most of her time alone, which worried me. She was a teenager. Should she not then be spending her free time with people her own age?

The more I watched her, the more curious I grew. I decided to do some research about my little protégé. It was disturbingly easy to break into the high school she attended and take her file. I learned that she had a single mother and that she had moved quite often before settling in New York. Well, that explained why she did not seem to have many friends… but this only increased my desire to know more about her.

Saturday, she began conversing with her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Valerius, and I discovered exactly how her father died. I learned that she was shy, lonely, but still ambitious. Again, I felt that I _had _to know more.

After she left for school on Monday, I snuck into her room. She had precious few possessions, which somewhat saddened me. A large collection of books sat on one shelf, and I smiled when I read the titles. _Les Miserables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Man in the Iron Mask, The Count of Monte Cristo_… I had never encountered a sixteen-year-old girl who was a fan of French literature.

On the shelf directly beneath the one that contained the book sat a smaller collection of journals. Without any qualms whatsoever, I took one and began to read.

_Daddy and I sang in the car again today, and Mommy even joined in. Daddy said she added an "interesting" harmony to our group._

Obviously, Christine had gained her talent from her father. As I turned the pages, I came to one that had dried wet marks on the page… wet marks that had been caused by tears.

_Daddy is gone._

_A robber tried to steal a car that belongs to Daddy's friend. Daddy tried to stop him, and the bad man shot him. He was taken to a hospital, but it was too late. Mommy and I rode in the ambulance, and I held his hand, praying that he would live. He was holding my hand… and then, he let go and closed his eyes._

_Mommy says that Daddy is a hero for standing up to the robber, but I don't care. I just want my Daddy back. I don't care that he went to heaven because I'm still here. Why didn't he take me with him? Why did he have to leave?_

And, another:

_Mommy has been acting weird lately. I went downstairs last night and asked her to read to me from my favorite fairy-tale book, but she started crying. She cries all of the time. When I sing, when I talk about Daddy, she begs me to stop. I don't want to stop. It isn't so bad when I can talk about him because it feels like he's still here. _

I put the notebook back onto the shelf and took the next one.

_We're moving again. I HATE this! Once I finally make friends in one place, we have to go to another. Mom says we have no choice because she has to keep her job, but what about ME? She still hardly talks to me, and I don't talk to her. _

_What's worse than all of this is that I can hardly remember Daddy's voice anymore. Sure, I have pictures, so I still remember his face… but his _voice… _that was what I loved about him the most._

The more I read, the more the missing pieces of the puzzle were put together. I was shocked by how tragic her young life had been. Shaking my head, I turned to leave, but a photograph sitting on her nightstand stopped me. I picked it up. In it was a happy, young couple. The man strikingly resembled his daughter, who was between them. She had a blissful smile on her face, and her eyes were shining. It must have been Christine, but I hardly recognized her with the smile on her face. An ache filled me. _What I would not give to see her smile like that again…_

o0o

That evening, I waited anxiously for her in the theater. To my relief (_relief?_), she quietly re-entered the almost empty building. I smiled. _She returned._

Her practice showed, for her voice was more relaxed and her tone improved. I was sure to tell her that I was pleased with her, as she was the type of person who constantly needed reassurance. When the lesson ended, I asked, "Christine, we are finished a bit early tonight, so I was wondering…" My voice trailed off, and I scolded myself. _Surely this is not wise? _But, I _needed _to know more about her. "I was wondering if you would tell me about yourself."

"Tell you about myself?" she echoed, looking confused. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything!" My response startled her, and I quickly added, "Everything you are comfortable telling me, that is."

The shy girl timidly began to talk about herself, gaining confidence as I listened. And, oh! How blessed was her audience! Behind her introverted persona was someone who was unafraid to dream and hope. The untimely death of her father had left scars, but to me, it only added to the beauty of her character.

When she told me about Mrs. Valerius - she was calling her "Mama Valerius" by that point - I said, "Christine, this 'Mama Valerius…' she sounds as though she can be trusted. You may tell her about our lessons, if you wish, but you must not tell anyone else." I had done some research on the old lady as well, and my research showed that she was a deeply religious lady. Not only would she be able to provide some comfort for Christine, but also… perhaps she could add some credibility to my "Angel of Music" story. If Mrs. Valerius believed me, then maybe Christine would be able to trust me more as well.

"Thank… thank you," the girl stuttered. "To be honest, I've been dying to tell someone about you, but I knew you wouldn't want me to say anything."

"Christine," I told her gently, "you will always need someone that you can completely confide in." And, then… she smiled. For a brief moment, she looked like the girl I had seen in the photograph, back before her life had been torn apart… back when she had been complete. The beauty of her smile touched me, and my heart skipped a beat. _Why do I care if she smiles? _I angrily berated myself.

"I think," I said, my beautiful voice raspy for the first time in my life, "we should say goodnight. It is growing late, and it will not do for your mother to know you are out this late."

"Goodnight, then," she bid me, still smiling. "I'll see… um, talk to you tomorrow."

As she walked away, I put my head in my hands. _What is happening to me?_


	9. Angels, Spirits, and Demons

**Chapter 8: Angels, Spirits, and Demons**

_**Christine**_

I never had an opportunity to tell Mama Valerius about my music teacher until the next weekend. My days were busy with schoolwork and time with Meg, and my nights were filled with music lessons and conversations with the Angel of Music. However, I found her Saturday morning outside, working in her flower bed. I smiled. Her straw hat and old-fashioned clothes were a funny sight, but they were still homey and comforting in my mind.

"Here, I'll help you," I said as I entered her yard.

"Why, thank you, dear," she cheerfully replied. For the next hour or so, I worked with her, pulling out weeds and such. Like our last visit, we carried on about light matters, never discussing anything serious. I think this kind of simple chatter was what drew me to her. In the middle of all of my confusion, she was already ready to smile and laugh. These talks were like a cook drink of water, and I was constantly thirsty for more. The thirst never ended, either; the more I drank, the more I recognized the depths of my deprivation.

After we were through in the garden, she took me into her kitchen and offered me a glass of lemonade, which I accepted. As she fetched the glasses and made the lemonade, I looked around the cozy room enviously. Her kitchen was bright and colorful, and the messy counters held a charm that can only be described as homey. I wished I could have a handful of that warmth in my house. Though my own kitchen was spotlessly clean and tidy, it was also cold, as if you could tell that no family sat down to eat its meals together. Mama Valerius' kitchen spoke of many good times that had taken place in the room.

"Well, Christine," Mama Valerius said as she sat down at the table across from me. "I'm sure you didn't come over here just to help me weed my flower bed. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about? If so, then I would be delighted to listen to you."

That was all of the encouragement I needed. Without hesitating, I told her all about my offer for music lessons, my decision, and my teacher. She listened patiently, nodding once or twice. She seemed absorbed in my story, and she never laughed at anything I said or expressed any disbelief. When I had told her everything, she asked, "And, do you believe that your teacher is truly the Angel of Music?"

"I… I think I believe, I said carefully. "At times, I believe he is."

"Yet, you sound uncertain," she gently prodded. She spoke in a sincere tone of voice.

"Well… I'm not sure what I believe about him," I confessed. "I mean, don't you think all of this seems a bit unnatural? What are the odds that an actual, honest-to-goodness angel would decide to teach me - of all people - to sing? And, what if he isn't who claims to be? What if he's someone who is trying to hurt me or someone who is just playing a joke on me?" As I said this, I shuddered. With all my heart, I prayed that this wasn't the case.

"Why wouldn't he choose you?" Mama Valerius countered. "You told me that your father knew you wanted to sing. Spirits have their ways of contacting the living, although we don't always comprehend the mysterious ways of those who have passed before us. This could be your father's way of speaking to you. How could you _not _believe that your teacher is the Angel of Music?"

I was shocked. I had expected her to throw me out of her house for wasting her time with foolish tales. Her seemingly effortless confidence in my account was a bit scary.

Still, when she put everything like _that, _I had to agree with her. Her thoughts - except, of course, the parts about spirits - were parallel to mine. She was right; why _shouldn't _my teacher be the Angel of Music? Miracles happen to people every day. Why shouldn't a miracle happen in my life? Why _shouldn't _my father still be trying to help me?

Perhaps my father was still watching over me after all.

I went to bed happy, thanking God for noticing how much I truly needed my father. Until the strange voice had offered to give me singing lessons, I hadn't realized how utterly alone I was in this world. Now, I fell asleep with a smile on my face, feeling very loved and protected indeed.

o0o

That night, the nightmares began.

_I was running, running… I didn't know why I was running; I just ran. Then, a creature swooped down from the sky and grabbed me. He began flying with me in his arms, up towards the heavens. With a sigh of relief, I looked down, only to find that the earth below me was green and lovely. I turned to face whoever was carrying me, and then, I screamed in horror. The creature - whatever it was - had the large, graceful build of an angel and snow-white feathery, large wings, but his face… his was a face of death in human form! His face was no more than a skull with a black hole for a nose. I looked down and saw that the hands were tightly grasping me were bony and cold. I lifted my head towards the horrible death's head again, and I began to scream endlessly from absolute terror. As I screamed, a single, silver tear traveled down the monster's dead face._

I woke screaming. I was breathing rapidly and was drenched with sweat as I shot up in my bed, terrified. The cool night air felt very, very cold against the contrast of my hot skin, and I started shaking uncontrollably as a result. I tried to control my breathing, but the racing of my heart couldn't be slowed. I started sobbing as I remembered the terrible face that had seen my horror and cried. His tears were the worst part of the nightmare, as if the skeleton cared for me but I was terrified of him. My shoulders started heaving with the force of my sobs, and I moaned.

"_Christine…"_

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of a voice. Warily, and a bit paranoid, I scanned my bedroom, but it was empty, as far as I could tell. "Who… who is there?" I cried. Part of me was wondering why my mother wasn't home by now, but then, I remembered that she was spending the night out of town due to a business conference. Although this was my mother's typical behavior and I had been spending nights alone ever since I was ten years old, the idea of spending this particular night on my own unnerved me. The bedroom that I had occupied for the past two and a half years was beginning to appear threatening to me, and I was fearful of every shadow and sound. I pulled my blanket up to my chin as a barrier between myself and the unknown presence that was in the room with me. My eyes were wide and my heart was thumping loudly. I was again startled as a voice sang my name, but that feeling was soon followed by embarrassment.

"Christine," the blessedly familiar voice gently said, "do you not know your angel?"

I relaxed as my embarrassment faded to relief. Feeling shy, I answered, "I… was afraid. I had a horrible nightmare."

I half-expected him to laugh, but he only asked, "Would you like to tell me about your nightmare?"

I shook my head. "Please… will you stay with me until I can fall back asleep?"

"Of course I will stay with you, my sweet girl. I will never leave you. Would you like it if I sang?"

I nodded and settled back into my bed. "Goodnight… Angel." For the first time, I called him "Angel" out-loud. I think this startled both of us, especially him, since I had never said anything about really believing his claims to be an angel sent down from my father. I suppose this means that my beliefs in the Angel of Music were confirmed.

"Goodnight, Christine. Do not fear; I will never leave you," he repeated.

This began a kind of understanding between the Angel of Music and myself. Whenever I had a nightmare, which was often, my angel would comfort me and ask if I wanted to discuss my dream. I would always answer "no," and he would sing to me until I was asleep once more. I never had trouble sleeping after he sang me back to sleep. Not was my angel there after I woke; he only came to me at night, a phantom in the dark. Yet, I didn't ever doubt that my angel had indeed been there the previous night. I had complete faith in my angel. He was completely invisible to me, but I knew that he was there, ready to bring me out of a fearful and confused state of mind. I couldn't see him, and sometimes, I couldn't hear him, either... Still, I could feel his presence surrounding me.

Even more significant was his promise: "I will never leave you." He never broke his word; not then, and not ever. Even during the time when all I wanted was for him to leave and never, ever speak to me again, he didn't leave my side. Even when I called him horrible names that I'm ashamed to remember, and even when I told him that I hated him, he only quietly reminded me of his promise: _"I will never leave you, Christine."_

He never left me.


	10. Split Loyalties

**Chapter 9: Split Loyalties**

The next few months were very routine and predictable: I would go to school, spend the afternoon doing homework, and go to choir practice that night. I would spend three hours each weeknight working on my voice and go home after the lessons were over. I would go to bed but wake almost every night after having terrible nightmares that made me tremble with fear, but the Angel of Music would immediately comfort me and help me fall back asleep. I spent the weekends helping Mama Valerius clean her disorderly kitchen, water her flowers, or just relax and carry on conversations. So, my life was pleasant… at least, it would have been had it not been for my guilt for avoiding Meg.

Poor Meg must have been feeling forgotten. She sullenly sat with me through lunch, and she stopped asking me to go places with her after school or choir rehearsals since she knew what my answer would be when she asked.

One day after anatomy, she came up to me and said, "Christine, how come I never see you anymore?"

"You see me every day at school, silly," I teased. Still, I knew that wasn't the answer she wanted.

She didn't let the matter go. "I know we see each other at school and choir practice and everything like that, but we don't ever do anything fun. Can't we please go do something tonight?" she begged, her large, dark eyes making her appear as if she was about to cry.

If I hadn't been so annoyed by her inconvenient request, I would have been amused. However, I was far from laughing. The Angel of Music would be furious if I skipped my music lesson, but how could I refuse my best friend? I mean, music couldn't take the place of her. So, what could I say to her when all she asked for was a girl's night out?

I gave a reluctant moan of consent. "Oh, I guess," I answered.

"Yay!" she squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. I couldn't stop the small grin that came from her enthusiasm. "This clothing store at the mall is having a huge sale, and…" She talked on and on all the way to English, but I hardly heard a word she said. My thoughts were directed on how much I was dreading telling the Angel of Music that I was planning to spend the evening shopping with Meg instead of singing. Somehow, I had a feeling that he wasn't going to be too happy with me once I told him my change of plans.

o0o

I was right.

"You said _what?_" my teacher shouted, enraged.

I winced. If he didn't calm down and stop hollering, Meg - who was waiting for me right outside the door - was going to hear him. I really didn't feel like explaining the whole Angel of Music business to her. "Please, I'm really sorry, but if I keep ignoring Meg, she's going to become suspicious and start asking me questions that I'm not going to be able to answer."

He gave a frustrated sigh, and then said, "I suppose you may go this one time, but you must remember where your loyalties are, Christine. You must stay loyal to me and to my music, or I will go back up into heaven and never return. Please do not force me to leave you on this earth alone."

I was shocked. "No, please no!" Don't leave me! I'll be faithful to you, I promise! Just don't leave me!" I continued crying and pleading, forgetting my own worries that Meg would come back inside the theater to investigate. All I could think of was my fear that the Angel of Music would leave me forever.

"I will not leave, so long as you keep your word," he said grimly. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "There, there, Christine. Dry your eyes. Go and have fun. I am sorry for upsetting you. I just… I am so afraid that one day, you will decide to not come back to me. Everything is alright, child."

I sniffed. "I really am sorry. I promise it won't happen again." That being said, I left.

My night out with Meg wasn't as fun as it should have been. Of course, that was to be expected. My thoughts kept returning to my angel. _Poor Angel of Music, _I thought. _he needs me as much as I need him._

Now, I realize that I should have become suspicious when he threatened to leave me. I was simply too distressed to really notice how sad and lonely he sounded. He sounded so… so _human, _and I should have noticed that something was wrong. However, I didn't give it any thought at the time. I was just determined not to let my angel down again. At all costs, I must remain loyal to the Angel of Music.


	11. The Dreadful Thing I Should Have Avoided

**Chapter 10: The Dreadful Thing I Should Have Avoided**

_**Erik**_

I knew I should have stayed away. I reminded myself of this several times as I watched her through her window, scolding my stupidity. _What if she sees you? _But, it was too late to turn back now. I could not tear myself away once I saw her peaceful, sleeping form. Fortunately for me, her mother was out of town. While this certainly aided me, I was still irritated that she could so easily leave Christine at home by herself. The unsuspecting girl in front of me showed that it would not be difficult for someone to hurt her; she was an easy target. However, she smiled in her sleep. For the first time, she did not seem to afraid of every shadow, everything unknown. Christine was a timid girl, and her innocence seemed to be what drew me to her.

Yet, as I watched her sleep, something began to happen. She moaned and turned over, her expression anxious even though she slept. I winced. _She is having a nightmare, _I realized. I assumed she was dreaming of her father, for no other person had enough influence on her to cause her to be so distressed. She whimpered pathetically, and everything within me wanted to break into her room, take her in my arms, and sing to her until she was calm once more. Thankfully, she woke before I could make such a fool of myself. As she started to cry, I could no longer restrain myself and called to her. "Christine…"

She squeaked fearfully, and her large eyes frantically looked around her room, trying to see me. "Who… who is there?" she cried.

Apparently, she did not think her angel would speak to her outside of the theater. Of course, one must make allowances for her naiveté and disturbed state of mind. "Christine," I reprimanded gently, "do you not know your angel?"

Visibly relaxing upon recognizing me, she whispered, "I… was afraid. I had a horrible nightmare."

I smiled slightly. Though loathe to admit it, even I could not deny that her shyness was endearing. Still keeping my voice light and soothing, I asked, "Would you like to tell me about your nightmare?" She shook her head, her cheeks reddening adorably. "Please, will you stay with me until I can fall back asleep?" she requested softly.

Pleased, I immediately granted her request, for it was the first she had ever asked of me. "Of course I will stay with you, my sweet girl." _As if I could force myself to leave now._ "I will never leave you. Would you like it if I sang?"

With another nod, the darling girl covered herself with her covers again. . "Goodnight, Angel" she bid me, a small smile on her face.

I could not instantly reply. I was in too much shock. _She believes…_

Before she could become suspicious, I realized that she was waiting for a response. "Goodnight, Christine. Do not fear; I will never leave you." As I spoke, I took care to use my voice to lure her back to sleep.

I watched her for a long time. I wanted so badly to approach her, but I knew I could not take advantage of her unconscious state. While she would never know, _I _would know. At that moment, I was content to watch her sleep and not allow myself to be bothered by the fact that my power was slowly draining away.

o0o

As time passed, I spend more and more time either with Christine or thinking about Christine. Every night, I returned to visit her like a drug addict goes to lose himself in a dose of heroin. She was my drug, my addiction, but I did not mind in the least. Most nights, she would wake crying for her angel, and I was all too happy to comfort her. I was a wretch - I knew that - but I fervently hoped that by attending to this lonely girl, I could somehow redeem my lost soul. Her voice was like a beacon in the midst of my wanderings, a light that called me home.

_Home. _Never before had I used the word in a positive sense. Before I met Christine, home was nothing to me, for I had no home. But, as I grew more and more attached to the girl who believed I was an angel, I began to consider _her _my home.

I still cannot believe how blind I was, so foolishly blind. I openly confessed that she intrigued me and that I all but worshipped her voice, but I never saw the depths of my infatuation… not until a seemingly innocent decision forced me to see how desperate I was, how much I did not want to share her.

Christine told me one night that she had made plans for an evening with Meg instead of attending her lesson. Though she tried to look defiant, the uncertainty in her voice gave her away. She was right to be nervous, for I was far less than pleased.

"You said _what?_" I bellowed. I could not believe her audacity! How dare she go behind my back and decide to waste her time socializing when she should have been working on her voice! Music was more important… _I _was more important.

"Please, I'm really sorry," she said anxiously, her rebellious attitude gone, leaving behind the meek, obedient girl I knew. "But," she continued when I said nothing. "If I keep ignoring Meg, she's going to become suspicious and start asking me questions that I'm not going to be able to answer."

_She has a point. _Huffing angrily, I conceded. I did _not _want little Giry questioning Christine. While my pupil was a good child, I sincerely doubted her ability to keep secrets from her closest friend. "I suppose you may go this one time, but you must remember where your loyalties are, Christine," I warned. "You must stay loyal to me and to my music, or I will go back up into heaven and never return. Please do not force me to leave you on this earth alone." Of course, I would never leave her, but she did not know that, and the threat worked well to my advantage. With a shriek of despair, she cried, "No, please no!" Don't leave me! I'll be faithful to you, I promise! Just don't leave me!" I must confess that I liked seeing her cry and enjoyed seeing how much power I had over her. Not that I enjoyed her pain, per se; I merely felt a grim sort of pleasure in seeing that I actually meant something to her, that she wanted me to stay just as much as I never wanted her to leave. Finally, I said sternly, "I will not leave, so long as you keep your word." Seeing how distressed she truly was, I relented somewhat. "There, there, Christine," I added soothingly. "Dry your eyes. Go and have fun. I am sorry for upsetting you. I just… I am so afraid that one day, you will decide to not come back to me. Everything is alright, child." I said everything that came into my mind to comfort her as she sniffed.

"I really am sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "I promise it won't happen again." Then, she left.

I sat in the darkness for a long time. I hated the power that girl held over me. I was strong, unstoppable. I had never yielded to anyone; I made decisions, and other people abided by them. No one had dared defied me without swift punishment… except for Christine. It infuriated me that a mere teenage girl should be my undoing. Still, I could not make myself hate her. I _should _have hated her as I hated myself for having a weakness, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not view her as anything but an angel.

That was when I finally admitted the dreaded truth to myself. I, Erik, arguably the most powerful man on the face of the earth, genius, composer, and magician, a heartless wretch and demon… had fallen in love with the most beautiful angel to grace humanity.

The admission did not make me feel better. _I should have avoided this, _I scowled. _I swore to never be under any man's power. _I disgustedly shook my head and laughed wryly. _Indeed, it would be my fate that I would fall under the power of a woman. Love is a most dreaded thing indeed._


	12. Drowning

**I know, I'm bad... It has been far too long since I've updated. But, the terrible beastie known as the School Monster (horrible creature, that!) has been trying to devour me, so I've been working hard in order to preserve my life. **

**Since my time IS limited now, I'm updating the stories that receive the most reviews most frequently. I'll try to update all of them reasonably fast, but no promises.**

**This chapter is considerably long, so I'm hoping it's enough to earn your forgiveness and for you to R & R.**

**Chapter 11: Drowning**

_**Christine**_

About two months before I turned seventeen, I was dropping by my house before choir practice. I had forgotten the new set of sheet music that I had been practicing over the weekend, and if I didn't have it that night at my lesson, my angel would be less than pleased. I was just about to go up the stars when I heard someone call my name. I slowly entered the kitchen, and the sight that met me took me completely by surprise. Sitting at the table looking very tired and worn was my mother. She shouldn't have been home; it was only four in the afternoon, and she never came home before ten at night. My initial reaction was happiness, but then, I took a closer look at her. Her appearance was quite the opposite of how she normally looked; she was a lovely woman who took great care with her appearance. Now, her clothes were wrinkled, she was slumping over, and her eyes had large, dark circles beneath them. I was so shocked by this sight that I couldn't take another step once I had reached the doorway. "Mom?" I began uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

My mother sighed from somewhere deep inside of her. "The company where I work is closing its branch here, Christine. I've been told that either we have to move or I'll lose my job. Moving is our only choice… jobs are nearly impossible to find nowadays."

Everything seemed to grow hazy when I heard my mother say "move." My angel's words came back to me in a rush: _"You must stay loyal to me and to my music, or I will go back up into heaven and never return." _For me to not return to the theater ever again would be worse than an act of disloyalty; I would be abandoning him. Knowing that I had the Angel of Music was all that kept me going most days. If I never spoke to him again, I would not only lose my connection to my father, but I would lose _him _as well. I had come to depend on him for all of my answers, and if he wasn't in my life, then what was I supposed to do?

I wasn't going to allow this to happen. I would run away before I was separated from my angel.

"What about your promise to me that you wouldn't force me to move again until after I graduate?" I should have worked harder to control myself - I wish I had now - but I was hysterical and wasn't thinking logically.

Mom just watched me with that same weary expression. "Christine, I can't lose my job. We're barely holding on as it is, and we don't have the resources to start all over."

"You can't lose your job? Your job seems to be more important to you than your own daughter! Don't you see that if we move, we _will _have to start all over? At least, I will! Can't you see that I've just started to be okay with life_ here? _No, you don't ever care about what _I _want. You've hardly looked at me since Father died!" I was shouting by that point, and tears were forming in my eyes. Mom's eyes widened. I immediately felt awful for saying such hurtful words to her - I knew that she wasn't over Father's death - but I didn't say anything. I was too upset.

"Christine, I'm… I'm sorry," she whispered sadly. "You don't understand how hard it is…"

"You're not the only one who's hurting, Mom," I whispered back. She looked as though she might cry, and that was all I could take. "I'm sorry," I muttered. I ran form the room as fast as I could, never looking behind me.

I never saw my mother alive again.

She was found by her supervisor's secretary in her office that night, slumped over across her desk. A note beside her said that she was sorry for failing me, that she was wrong, and that she couldn't live with herself - and without my father - any longer. The authorities found traces of poison in her coffee cup, and after thoroughly analyzing the note she had written and deciding that the suicide was indeed a suicide, the case was dismissed.

I can still remember my reaction to the horrible news. I screamed and cried for hours. The police took me down to the station for a while and considered having me stay with a distant relative of mine until the child services had come to a decision what was to be done with me. But, after Mama Valerius promised to check on me daily, they decided to let me stay in my house. She was so good to me during that time that I believe she kept me from following my mother's example and escaping the world.

After my mother's funeral, I was notified that I was going to be sent to a foster home that was over three hours away since none of my relatives were able to care for me. Despite my pleas and protests, I knew that I had no say in the matter. Dear Mama Valerius… she begged to be allowed custody, but the child services declared that she was too old to raise a teenage girl. So, the night before I was to be taken from my home and my life, I went to bed extra early. All of my energy had abandoned me, so I drifted off to sleep in a matter of minutes.

My nightmares, which had been coming less frequently, returned that night with full force. I woke sobbing and trembling frenziedly. In the midst of my tears, I heard a voice - the sweetest voice to ever bless human ears - say, "Christine, sweet Christine… please do not cry, child."

I didn't even bother to sit up or look towards the ceiling. If my angel wanted to talk to me, he could come down to my level for once. "Why shouldn't I cry? Both of my parents are gone, I'm going to be sent away, and I'm going to be alone again!" Though I didn't say this, I wanted to add, _"And, I'm afraid that you won't come to me anymore." _I hadn't allowed myself to believe this before, but now, I realized that if my angel left, I wouldn't be capable of surviving the loneliness that I had known not so long ago. His presence was as (if not more) essential to me as air was to my body and lungs. I needed him in order to stay alive.

"Christine," my angel said mournfully, "I swear to you, I will not allow anyone to take you away, and you will not have to be alone. I will always be here, and I will never abandon you."

"How can you say that?" I knew that I had no right to be yelling that way at my beloved angel, but I was so angry and frightened that I didn't care. "If you can keep me from having to move away from here, why didn't you save my mother? You're an angel; you could have saved her!" At this, my voice broke and I started whimpering and crying all over again. I didn't even try to stop my tears. Why hadn't he prevented this? Did he not care? Why had he allowed my mother to end her life? He was an angel, for crying out loud! He should have been able to stop this!

The silence that followed penetrated my anger. I had been forced to hear silence from everyone around me for so long that my angel's silence made me lose control of myself. Panicking, I tumbled out of my bed and onto my knees, crying and desperately pleading for my angel to not leave me, not now, when I needed him more than ever. I fervently apologized for my words and swore my loyalty to him. As I hunched over, rocking back and forth as I wrapped my arms around myself, he gently said, "Christine, I am… I am not angry with you. I wish… I wish you had never been put through all of this pain, my poor girl. You are far too innocent and good to know of all of the evil in this world. This should never have happened to you… especially not to you!" He sounded angry now, though I could tell that his anger wasn't directed towards me. No, he sounded as though he hated the entire world and most of the people who lived on the earth.

I whispered, "I wish… oh, how I wish… If only Father was here!" I covered my face with my hands. I was going to say more, but somehow, I felt as though I shouldn't say what was racing through my mind: _I wish that none of this had ever happened and everything could be exactly as it used to be before he died. _While my words hardly would have angered my angel, for some reason I couldn't explain, I knew that he would be grieved to know that I wished that he had never been needed in my life. So, I didn't say anything, and the pain and guilt that I had so urgently pushed away consumed me at the same time.

Maybe he sensed my grief - and perhaps even my shame - because he started singing to me softly. As if in a daze, I stared at the ceiling, silently pleading for my angel to save me from the ocean of misery that was so slowly and painfully crashing around me as they threatened to take me away in their dark, stormy depths. "Please," I whispered softly. "Please don't let me drown."

I don't remember when I finally fell asleep. However, through my sub-consciousness, I almost seemed to feel a pair of gentle, loving hands softly and tenderly stroking my hair and face. Through the storm and the huge, menacing waves, someone was keeping me safe and out of their hold. I reached out blindly, grasping something with both of my hands. I didn't care what it was and I clung to it desperately for dear life. A soft wind seemed to blow across my face, and for the first time in days, I smiled. After that, everything went black, and I dreamed a deep, dreamless sleep, free of the fear and torment of the world.

In the morning, I wasn't sure whether my angel's visit was a dream or something that had actually taken place. Yet, as I opened my eyes, I saw that a brilliant, blood-red rose was resting next to me. Around its stem was a black ribbon, and right beside it was a note that said, _"I am here for you, Christine. Now and forever."_

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I smiled, even as tears traveled slowly down my cheeks. Yes, I hadn't been dreaming. My angel was there, protecting me from the world. He was still there, watching me - and shielding me - from the world and myself.

So, at least for a few minutes, I felt safe.

o0o

Later that morning, Mama Valerius rushed through my front door, to my great astonishment. Before I could ask her what in the world was going on, she started babbling at a speed so fast that I could hardly understand what she was trying to say to me.

"Christine, child services just told me... They've changed their minds for some reason... Oh, I'm so glad!" As those words left her mouth, she began to weep, covering her face with her hands.

Worried and bewildered, I asked, "Mama Valerius, please explain yourself; I don't understand what's happening. Come and sit down and start from the very beginning."

After she sat down in a nearby recliner, she eventually calmed down enough to tell me, "Oh, Christine, the child services have decided to allow me to have custody of you after all! They called me only a few minutes ago. I don't know why they changed their minds… I didn't ask. I'm so happy, child!" She stood and held out her arms, and I all but threw myself into them. We stood there like that for a long time, crying and laughing, and crying some more.

I never told her this, but I believed with all of my heart that the Angel of Music had somehow arranged this for me. I didn't keep this bit of information from her because I was embarrassed or afraid for her to know. All this would have done was strengthen her belief that my father's spirit was still somehow contacting and protecting me. The poor woman was already overwhelmed as it was; she didn't ever really need to know, so I never told her.

o0o

The next few weeks are hazy in my memory. I've tried to forget everything about this time, but I can still remember a few things.

For one, I moved into Mama Valerius' house. She was so kind to me, like a grandmother. If I was upset, she was always ready with words of comfort and a plate of cookies and milk. Though that is how younger children than myself were typically comforted, I had missed out on those kind of childish delights when I had lived with my mother. Still, she never tried to make me discuss anything unless I went to her first. She encouraged me to look forward.

Meg was as faithful as ever, seemingly forgetting my neglect of her. She never left my side for one instant while we were at school or choir rehearsal. She was wise enough to not load me with sympathetic comments or looks. She really tried to keep my life at school normal, too. I think she even warned kids who to school with us to act as though nothing had happened. While some people enjoy the attention that accompanies misery, I despise this kind of attention. True, I hadn't ever liked vast quantities of attention, but to benefit from my mother's death… that was sick and disturbing. The very idea of gaining something from her suicide made me feel repulsive.

Yet, despite Meg's warnings, the other students at school couldn't stopped from trying to ask me awkward questions, offering condolences for my loss, and so forth, giving me exactly the kind of notice I wanted the very least. The worst by far was the whispering about me that they thought I couldn't hear. I would walk by a group of people, and they would stare at me as though I had an extra arm or something. Then, as soon as I had passed them, I would hear them whispering to each other. I suppose they didn't mean any harm, but all the same, the stress that followed caused me to close in on myself. I spoke only to Mama Valerius and Meg, but I was always distant, reluctant to say anything. I hardly slept at night, and I spent my days in my room after I came home from school. All interest in food was lost; I seldom ate, and when I did eat, I only ate enough to survive. Food held no pleasure for me anymore. To Meg's dismay, I lost weight, and to Mama Valerius' dismay, I didn't smile or laugh anymore.

At least… I didn't smile around the people I could actually see. However, my dear Angel of Music… he alone could still make me smile. He would help me lose myself in the beauty of music, and I would cry while smiling blissfully, forgetting everything but the songs we were singing.

My music lessons were my big escape from the world. I still didn't laugh, but I would smile because music made me feel close to my father. Then, I would stay at the theater after my lessons were over, talking to my angel. You see, I felt more at ease with him than I felt with anyone else. Through my music lessons, a shred of the previous life I had known was sustained.

One night, I told the Angel of Music that I wish I could just go somewhere away from reality, a place where only music existed. He asked me, "But, what of your friends, Christine? What of Mrs. Valerius?" I just shrugged and told him that I would gladly leave everything in this life behind - and everyone in it - if I could only be with my father again. I knew it was horrible and selfish of me, but I needed his guidance, his love, for I was too weak to stand by myself.

Unfortunately, I would always have to leave the theater eventually. So, I would leave my haven and go back out into the dark, treacherous world to face the terrors of everyday life.

Still, every night, I would return to my hiding place - the place where I was safe - where only I, music, and my angel existed.


	13. Even Angels Have Limits

**Chapter 12: Even Angels Have Limits**

_**Erik**_

Something was wrong. I knew it when I heard Christine crying. The sound made me worried to distraction, so cautiously, I asked, "What is it, child?"

"It's my mom," she sobbed. "She's going to lose her job unless we move again, so we have to go."

My heart seemed to stop beating. "What?" I fought hard to keep the panic out of my voice. _No! She cannot leave now! I will not let her leave me!_

She told me everything, how her mother had a habit of uprooting her just as she became comfortable in a new town, the way her mother was depressed when she saw her, and her guilt in being so angry with her. "It's hard for her since Father died," she explained, "and I'm sorry I yelled at her. But, I won't leave! I'll run away first!"

I was tempted, so very tempted, to encourage this thought that I hesitated. I did not want her to leave. I would miss more than her voice; I would miss _her. _Yet, this was my chance, was it not? This scenario gave me an opportunity to free myself from whatever obsession had possessed me. If I did not break free now, I would never again have the strength.

"I do not think you should run away," I began carefully. "Perhaps she will change her mind."

She shook her head. "My mom never changes her mind," she said bitterly. "We'll leave no matter who it makes unhappy." She looked down for a moment, and I wanted to go to her so badly. Thankfully, my mind was stronger than my feelings, so I stayed in the balcony.

"If I leave, I'll never hear from you again, will I?" she whispered.

"No," I said, my heart aching. _I am not an angel; even I have my limits. _"You cannot hold on forever, Christine…"

"Why not?" she all but shouted back. "I need something to hold onto; everything I have is being stripped away."

"It is… I am not good for you," I answered softly.

She looked disgusted. "You're an angel," she pointed out. "I don't know what else could be better for me."

"Christine, have I ever given you cause to distrust me?" That question right there was proof that she should not place her trust in me, for although she did not know, she had every reason in the world to distrust me. But, she - innocent and naïve girl that she was - shook her head as tears fell down her cheek. Gritting my teeth, I turned away. The sight of her tears were too much for me.

"Trust me this time, then," I told her. "Everything I have done has been for you, including this."

"It's not what I not," she begged. I sighed. _It is not what I want either, child. _"I know."

o0o

My plans were destroyed as soon as I heard the news: Christine's mother had committed suicide.

According to my source, her body was found in her office, along with a suicide note. I was shocked and disgusted all at once. _How can anyone abandon her child? _I thought, enraged. Then, I realized the hypocrisy of that statement. _Am I not doing the same thing? I am as bad as she is, if not worse._

I tried to stay away. I stayed at my house, trying to distract myself, but the pull towards Christine was magnetic; I had no choice. Knowing she was suffering and not doing anything to help her… I am labeled by many as a cruel man, but it pained me to think of the tears of a teenage girl. Even my heartlessness has its limits, and obviously, Christine was the one who gave me limits.

So, against my better judgment, I went to see her. I had learned that she was to be placed in a foster home three hours away. She was guaranteed to be terribly upset. I brought a red rose with me as a way of apologizing, hoping she would forgive me. Breaking into her house was all too easy, and I peeked into her room. She was thrashing about and crying, once more held captive by her nightmares. Suddenly, she sat upright with a gasp, but she could not seem to stop shaking. I could not restrain myself. Throwing my voice upwards - for one of my many accomplishments is ventriloquism - I called to her. "Christine, sweet Christine," I begged. Yes, I begged; I am not ashamed of the fact. "Please do not cry, child."

At first, I thought she had not heard me. Just as I was about to speak to her again, however, she responded in a frustrated tone. "Why shouldn't I cry? Both of my parents are gone, I'm going to be sent away, and I'm going to be alone again!" Her anger threw me for a moment; I had never seen her anything other than timid and docile before that night. To my surprise... I liked her anger. Of course, I was not mad enough to like that her anger was directed towards _me, _but it became her.

Then, something happened within me: I realized that I needed her as much as she needed me. I no longer had the willpower necessary to stay away from her. Aloud, I confirmed the truth: "Christine, I swear to you, I will not allow anyone to take you away, and you will not have to be alone. I will always be here, and I will never abandon you."

"How can you say that?" she scoffed as her voice rose. She glared at the ceiling, and the fire in her left me breathless. It was a glorious sight to behold, the righteous anger of my angel. "If you can keep me from having to move away from here, why didn't you save my mother? You're an angel; you could have saved her!" she finished, her voice breaking at the end in a whimper.

Her words shook me to the core, and I had to look away. Though for me it was merely a sardonic bit of humor that I had labeled myself as an angel, she believed in me. No one had ever held any faith in me before, especially not to the extent of Christine's belief in her Angel of Music. And, though she might not make the connection in her mind, she was slowly realizing that I was not as powerful as she had thought at first.

She was not the only one.

When I looked at her again, I was surprised to see her on the ground on her knees as though she was in prayer. She swore her faithfulness to me over and over again in a panic. I shook my head. _This is wrong; an angel should not bow to a demon. _

"Christine, I am… I am not angry with you," I said quietly. "I wish… I wish you had never been put through all of this pain, my poor girl. You are far too innocent and good to know of all of the evil in this world. This should never have happened to you… especially not to you!" My fist clenched angrily. All I did was for her good, but I seemed to be hurting her more than I was helping. I was slowly poisoning her, but she did not recognize the symptoms. And, I - despicable wretch that I was - was too weak to save her from myself.

"I wish… oh, how I wish… If only Father was here!" she moaned, covering her pale face with her hands. Her grief filled me with guilt because I knew that if I had never spoken to her, she would not have spoken harshly to her mother, who in turn would not have committed suicide. I should have returned to my dark domain and left her in peace, but I could not. I began to sing to her to set her at ease, and as she listened, she whispered, "Please… Please don't let me drown."

Those few words were my undoing.

Once she was sleeping, I entered her room. As I looked upon her angelic face, I lightly traced the tear markings, wishing I could take them away. My hands moved to her golden hair, and all of a sudden, she reached out and grabbed my shirt. Somehow, I ended up laying beside her as she rested her head upon my chest. I was afraid that the loud and erratic beating of my heart would wake her, but she smiled peacefully. Carefully, I took her blanket and covered her with it, separating her body from mine. I would never on my own free will do anything to break her trust in me, but I did not want to be tempted in any way.

I held her for a long time, her head tucked under my chin. Her warmth filled my coldness, and I closed my eyes for a brief moment to take it all in. Never before had I held anyone, but holding Christine felt… _natural. _I had not noticed how cold I was until she was in my arms, and I knew then that I would never, ever let her go, even if it condemned me to hell.

Though I did not want to leave, I finally managed to tear myself away. I wrote a note for her and the rose, and then, I left. I had work to do.

o0o

"I'm afraid it's impossible, sir."

I exhaled impatiently, stifling my anger. "I am sure you will find that it _is _possible," I hissed. "She will remain in the custody of her neighbor until she comes of age, or I promise you that a disaster beyond her imagination will occur." I tried to justify my threats by reminding myself of the adage "the ends justify the means." This was for Christine, and I would keep her from leaving no matter what the cost.

The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. "Very well, then, it will be done."

"There, now; I appreciate your change of heart," I said soothingly, smirking. Blackmail is such a useful tool at times. "I suggest you call her neighbor soon and inform her of your new plan."

"Yes, sir." A pause, then, "If you don't mind me asking… why do you care where the girl goes?"

I growled. He was moving into very dangerous territory. "It is no business of yours, and if you want to remain in good health, you will not look into this any further."

"Ah… yes sir. I understand."

"See that you do." With that, I ended the phone call. It was too late, now; Christine would never be safe from me again.

o0o

Although she never said anything about it, I think Christine suspected that I had something to do with her new living arrangements. Fortunately, she never asked any awkward questions, so I was able to keep my little secret. I was more cautious than ever around her now when we met for her music lesson. I like to think that the music helped her, for she seemed to be happier while she was singing.

The only time she asked me something that indicated any suspicion of who I truly was occurred right before she left the theater one night. "Angel," she started, looking uneasy. "Why did you decide to keep teaching me?"

I almost told her the truth: _"Because I am in love with you. I cannot live without you, and I beg you to learn to see me as a man. I need you." _Instead, I merely answered dryly, "Even angels have their limits, Christine. You did not want me to leave, so who am I to resist such a calling?" While my conscience scolding me harshly, the larger part of my brain shot back with, _It is not completely a lie. You are powerless to resist her. You might as well become used to it. _

The smile she gave me destroyed any lingering guilt.

I was doomed.


	14. I Call it an Act of Love

**I must say that I enjoyed exploring the dark side of Erik's mind. That being said, I must also add that this chapter creeps even _me _out. **

**Disclaimer: Just as I don't own _Phantom of the Opera_, I don't own Erik, which means that I cannot be held responsible for his actions.**

***WARNING* Contains violence, though no gore junk. **

**Chapter 13: I Call it an Act of Love**

Have I mentioned that I hate it when people disobey my orders? No? Well, I am telling you now: nothing irritates me more than my orders not being followed to the letter.

Add Christine's safety to the mix and a catastrophe is the only possible result.

With extreme patience and gentleness, I helped Christine rebuild her confidence. She started spending time with Meg Giry again, and she was more open with her guardian, Mrs. Valerius. After the fateful night where she begged me to save her from drowning in her grief, I started visiting her every night. I was not foolish enough to hold her again; no, I merely spoke to her and sang her back to sleep when her nightmares attacked.

Yet, a threat I had not foreseen soon made itself known, threatening my angel once again: the janitor.

I still curse myself this day to allowing him to work in my theater. I knew of his criminal record, which was larger than the authorities had in their computers. I planted him as a source, but over time, he started disobeying me. So, I decided to have a talk with him. One morning while he was the only one in the building, I approached him.

"You should know better than to defy me, Harper," I said softly. He jumped, surprised, and swore. "You didn't have to sneak up one me," he growled in his gruff voice.

I offered no apology. "It would be wise of you to keep a healthy fear of me. You have not been following orders."

"I'm not your puppet. I want out."

Raising an eyebrow, I said, "It is too late for that. Either you abide by my rules, or you will find yourself without a job." I turned to leave when another thought struck me. "Oh, yes," I added over my shoulder. "One more thing: stop spying on the young ladies in their dressing rooms."

"What does it matter?"

"Just do it." I left, thinking the matter had been settled.

I was very wrong.

The next night during Christine's music lesson, we were in the middle of rehearsing "Nel cor più non mi sento" when the theater door slammed. We were both instantly silent, and I cursed under my breath as I saw Mr. Harper approach Christine. She spun around and jumped, startled as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

I did not hear the lie she concocted; she is a pitiful liar, you know. I was too busy thinking, _I am going to kill him. _But, before I could intervene, Christine stood tall and looked the old man in the eye, daring him to stop her. To my astonishment, he stepped away from her, though he still warned, "Don't let me catch you here again or I'll inform the manager." He left as my little protégé glared at his retreating back. Had I not been shaking with wrath, I would have laughed. Instead, I exclaimed, "How _dare _he have the audacity…"

"Shhhhhh," she interrupted, looking towards the door worriedly. "He might be listening."

"No, no, he is gone," I assured her.

She turned towards the balcony again. "So, what are you going to do?"

As frustrated as I was, I managed to keep my voice smooth as I said, "Do not worry, Christine. Your angel will take care of everything." _A lasso will work quite nicely… _"However," I continued reluctantly, "I do think the safest thing to do would be for you to go on home for the night." I did not want that filth giving anyone a reason for tarnishing my angel's name, which was very likely to happen if she did not leave immediately.

She surprised me for the second time that night by sighing in frustration. The gesture made me laugh because it was so unusual to see her in such a state. "My, my, Christine," I teased gently. "Whenever did you obtain a temper?"

She grinned and visibly relaxed. "I honestly have no idea," she replied. "I just haven't ever had anything to fight for before now."

_I just haven't ever had anything to fight for before now. _Though the words were uttered casually, I was moved. My Christine is not a fighter. She is the typical damsel in distress who needs to be rescued. Yet, she was growing more sure of herself; I could see it, and to think that I had aided the cause made me proud.

It also made me think of something else. Christine would not like it if I killed Mr. Harper, despicable rat though he was. She would not know, of course, but I would steal feel guilty. That was the thing about Christine: she was my conscience, for my own had died long ago. And, I could not do anything that would bring her unhappiness and look her in the face again.

"Well, my child, just leave all of the fighting to your angel," I instructed. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight?" she asked, suddenly anxious. "Aren't you going to sing to me tonight?"

I examined her expression. She truly did look worried. _Can it possibly be… _"You would… miss your angel, then?" I inquired carefully. I did not want her to sense my hope.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I would greatly miss you."

I smiled. "Very well, then. I will sing to you tonight, if that is your wish." _Dealing with the unruly manager can wait._

_I just haven't ever had anything to fight for before now. _Despite the current circumstances, I felt light at heart for the first time in years, for Christine was not the only one who now had someone to fight for, and I had no intentions of allowing a janitor to come between us.

The next day, I wrote Mr. Harper a letter warning him of the consequences of ignoring my orders. I instructed him to stop looking into Christine's late night rendezvous habits in the theater and that she had my permission to stay as long as she liked. Also, I reminded him that I had files related to his criminal not-so-distant past and that his job rested in my hands… a job that he desperately needed. I sent the note and thought no more of it. After all, who in his right mind would dare to challenge me?

I should have foreseen that he would not heed my warning. I should have been at the theater earlier, but a business meeting kept me away. When I neared the doorway, I heard a frightened voice saying, "No, please, I don't know anything!"

The voice belonged to Christine.

Worried, I hurried into the building. What I saw filled me with rage. That absolute garbage of a janitor was twisting my angel's arm behind her back and waving my note in the air. She cried out in pain, and without hesitation, I threw my lasso around his own arm and pulled on it hard. He was thrown off balance and collapsed, and Christine stared at him, eyes wide with shock. I was standing in the shadows, so she did not see me, but I did not want her to stay and witness my upcoming behavior. "Run, Christine!" I ordered. As though released from a spell, she turned and fled.

Once I was certain she was gone, I slowly approached the fallen man. He looked up at me, terrified. "You are a fool, Harper," I hissed. "You should have known to obey me."

"I'll tell everyone about you," he cried, his face turning red with anger. "You'll be locked away for the rest of your life, you… you masked _freak!"_

I chuckled darkly, and his eyes widened. "Well, I cannot have that, can I? And, while I do not believe you are in any position to be making threats, I think I ought to teach you a lesson that you will never forget. Hmmm…" I allowed my voice to trail off as he trembled beneath me. I will not lie to you; I was playing with him. I knew exactly what I would do, but I wanted him to suffer as much as possible. The fact that he had laid a harmful hand on Christine condemned him in my eyes. I was not going to kill him; I had something worse than death planned for him. "Since you so rudely mocked me for wearing a mask, perhaps you would like to see beneath it?" Slowly, I removed it, revealing my face to him.

His face turned deathly pale. He was frozen with fright and could not look away. I grinned as he took in the sight of my countenance. Taking my lasso, I wrapped it around his neck to secure him I tightened the rope and took a vial out of my coat. As I prepared to pour it down his throat, he tried to fight. I easily overcame him, for I am strong despite my frail appearance, and the lasso works wonders when patients struggle.

"No…" he whispered pathetically. "Mercy!"

"You can go on your knees before God for mercy," I said softly, "for you shall receive none from me." Then, I proceeded in forcing him to drink the concoction that was within the vial. As his expression became blank, I whispered, "If anyone asks, Death has done this to you." Removing the lasso, I left him. My angel was waiting, and I needed to tell her that she was safe now.

o0o

"How are you feeling?"

"Better." The girl sat up on her bed, though she did not lift her gaze.

I was furious with the authorities. After Mr. Harper was found, Christine was brought in for questioning. Apparently, they somehow discovered that she was the last known person to see the janitor the night before, and they forced her to tell them that she was attacked. I was proud of her when she did not tell them about me. Still, I could tell that she was shaken, so I spoke to her as soon as she was finally alone.

"Angel," she began, sounding unsure of herself. "I need to know: what did you do to Mr. Harper?"

My Christine is a bright girl. She knew that I would never have simply left the man to hurt another; no, I gave him the safe life he wanted for me: a life in a padded cell. Of course, I had no intentions of telling this to Christine. She becomes upset so easily, you see. "Christine," I sighed, "you should not ask such questions. What happened last night is behind us, but I assure you, whatever I did was to protect you." It _was _the truth; I just left out the part about me enjoying it.

She smiled, obviously relieved. "Thank you, Angel," she said softly. "You've kept your promise."

o0o

The potion I gave Mr. Harper caused him to be mentally unstable. The only thing he would ever remember about the attack was the final line I whispered to him: _Death has done this to you. _He would be behind bars for the rest of his life.

Do I feel guilty? No, of course I do not feel guilty! Would you?

"It was wrong for me to enjoy causing another man pain," you say. You are quite mistaken, there; he deserved punishment. He hurt a young, defenseless girl. He was already condemned. I merely carried out the sentence.

Yes, I kept all of this from Christine; I am not stupid. I do not want to take the risk of a misunderstanding between us. My actions were righteous. After all, they were done out of love, and love is pure.


	15. Fear

**I'm so sorry so much time has passed! Life has been unusually hectic. I'll update as much as possible this week. Thanks to all of you who reviewed and read! I love you!**

**Chapter 14: Fear**

_**Christine**_

Over time, I became a bit less timid. I went places with Meg almost every weekend. Still, I was like a terrified rabbit. My depression seemed to never go away, but instead, it was watching for the next chance to consume me, jeering as it waited.

Ironically, my greatest peace – beside my music lessons, of course – came to me at night. Though my nightmares hadn't left, after I woke from the fear and panic they gave me, my angel would speak and sing to me in a soothing tone of voice. Then, once I was asleep again, I would dream lovely dreams that made me feel like I was surrounded by love and safety.

During these times, I felt close to my father.

Meg and I weren't working together in the theater anymore. She had been promoted from a chorus member to one of the actresses. I missed her terribly during rehearsals, but at least I have to keep inventing reasons to go back into the building after the rehearsals were over. I also didn't have to worry about her re-entering the building if she decided to wait for me. So, life was manageable, if not good.

Then, everything changed.

One night, as I was singing with my angel during my music lesson, I heard a door slam. We both stopped singing, and a dark silence filled the space around me. Startled, I turned… and there, standing right behind me and glaring, was the alarming face of Mr. Harper.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in a rough voice.

"I… I just… the stage was there, simply inviting me to stand in the middle of it and sing like I was really performing…" I trailed off. I knew my story was lame – no, _worse _than lame – and Mr. Harper knew it, too. I stood, waiting. I was absolutely terrified. How was I going to explain my presence without giving away the Angel of Music?

The answer was simple: I wasn't.

Then, although his glare never ceased to intimidate me, I suddenly felt anger surging through me. After all of the misery I'd been through, this creep was _not _going to keep me from the person – or more accurately, the angel – that was keeping me alive. I was not going to just let someone keep me from talking to my angel.

Perhaps my defiant expression unnerved him because he took a step back and said, "Don't let me catch you here again, or I'll inform the manager." Then, still eyeing me in suspicion and confusion, he left. I never stopped glaring at his retreating back until he was out of sight.

I waited for my angel's reply to Mr. Harper's warning. I didn't have to wait long. After only a couple of minutes, he all but shouted, "How _dare _he have the audacity…"

"Shhhhhh," I warned him cautiously. "He might be listening."

"No, no, he's gone," my angel replied quickly, sounding – I don't know – distracted.

Now, _that _surprised me. "So, what are we going to do?" I asked.

"Do not worry, Christine," he answered smoothly, sounding suspiciously persuasive. "Your angel will take care of everything." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "However, I do think the safest thing to do would be for you to go on home for the night."

I sighed out of frustration, and he laughed softly. "My my, Christine. Whenever did you obtain a temper?"

I grinned and shrugged my shoulders. "I honestly have no idea," I confessed. "I just haven't ever had anything to fight for before now."

"Well, my child, just leave all of the fighting to your angel." He chuckled again, and then told me, "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight?" I asked, beginning to fret. "Aren't you going to sing to me tonight?"

"You would miss your angel, then?" He asked, sounding hopeful.

"Yes, I would greatly miss you," I quietly replied.

"Very well, then. I will sing to you tonight, if that is your wish."

"Good." With a smile on my face, I left, glad to let my angel handle all of my problems.

o0o

I followed my teacher's instructions and didn't worry about Mr. Harper's warning. After all, hadn't my angel arranged for me to live with Mama Valerius instead of a foster home? I had complete faith in him; I figured that this block in the road would be removed by that night's lesson.

This was not to be.

During choir rehearsal, I couldn't help but notice how Mr. Harper watched me, his gaze intent and furious. A dreadful feeling churned within my stomach, and my throat suddenly became dry. I tried to concentrate on the chorus number, but that threatened feeling that was being caused by Mr. Harper's stare prevented this, or any other thought but one of great fear.

As soon as rehearsal was over, I grabbed my folder, but unfortunately for me, all of my music fell out onto the ground. None of the other singers stopped to assist me, so I knelt quickly, trying to gather the fallen music. My trembling hands didn't help me. By the time that everything was back inside of my folder, the theater was empty. I ran for the door. However, a hard grip on my wrist stopped me in my tracks. I started to cry out, but a hand covered my mouth, and then I found myself looking into the angry eyes of Mr. Harper.

"Shut up," he growled in response to my muffled screams. My eyes grew wide with fear. He released my mouth. I should have used that opportunity to yell, but I was paralyzed from the terror gripping me. Mr. Harper waved a piece of paper in the air. "I found this in my mailbox this morning. Does it look recognizable to you?"

I started to shake my head, but I froze as I examined the note more closely. That handwriting, with its scrawled form, looked terribly familiar…

I paled in recognition.

"I thought so," he said smugly. He twisted my arm behind my back as I struggled, and I whimpered softly, trying not to scream.

"No, please, I don't know anything!" I begged desperately.

"Oh, yes you do," he snapped back mercilessly. "You sent me this note so that I wouldn't rat you out for whatever you're doing here at night. Well, you're stupid to think that I'm not going to tell the manager about you. What have you been doing, anyway?" He gave a particularly cruel wrench to my arm, and I couldn't help but give a cry of pain.

Suddenly, his grip was released. I watched in horror as he fell to the ground. Then, I heard, "Run, Christine!"

I didn't need to be told a second time. I followed my angel's advice – for it was his voice that had shouted, _"Run, Christine!" _– and ran for my car is if all of hell was chasing me. I never looked back.

I couldn't sleep that night. I had run into Mama Valerius' house and hurried up the stairs to my bedroom without an explanation. She was worried, I could tell, but in the months which I had lived with her, she had learned not to question my sometimes bizarre behavior.

So, as I was sitting on my bed with me knees drawn against my chest, I was more than a little relieved to hear the Angel of Music's sweet voice singing my name.

Tears fell down my face. "Angel, why does something like this have to always ruin whatever happiness I have? What have done to deserve this?"

A brief silence, and then, "Do not be afraid, child. He will never hurt you again, I promise."

I found this promise a bit hard to believe, considering how his last promise had fallen through. "But…"

He interrupted quickly. "I swear to you that Mr. Harper will never lay a hand on a single strand of your hair for as long as he lives. I swear to you, Christine; he will never touch you again."

I relaxed slightly. "Will you please sing to me? If you aren't angry that I ran away, that is?"

"Child, did you honestly think that I would be angry with you?" My angel sounded so astonished that I was shamed to think that he would be angry by my fear. "Christine, you silly girl, I told you to run! You were in danger!" Then, after a slight pause, "Close your eyes, child, and I will sing for you."

I obeyed and curled up underneath the covers, but even though my angel sang to me, I didn't sleep.

After a long time, I was startled to feel what seemed to be fingers brushing against my cheek. Yet, because my angel was still singing, I kept my eyes closed. For all I knew, I _had _fallen asleep, and if this was a dream, then I certainly didn't want to ruin it by waking.

So, I just continued to keep my eyes closed and allowed myself to be comforted. After my angel had left, the red rose lying beside me convinced my doubting mind that I had indeed been awake.

Mr. Harper was found that same morning by another staff member.

He wasn't dead, but he was in bad condition. The staff member asked the old man who had hurt him, but all Mr. Harper said comprehensively was "Death, death is after me!" He repeated this over and over again until the paramedics arrived at the theater. Soon afterwards, he went into shock and he never fully recovered mentally from whatever trauma had been done to him.

One of the girls who was in the chorus group told the investigators that Mr. Harper had been watching me during the last choir practice and that I hadn't left the building at the same time as everyone else. So, the police – along with the owner and manager of the theater – called me in for questioning. Mama Valerius accompanied me, but they didn't allow her to be in the room as the chief investigator began the questioning procedure.

I told the police officers that I had returned to fetch my choir folder, but Mr. Harper hadn't been in sight. However, they saw the bruises on my wrist, and they pressed me for the truth. I was asked why I hadn't contacted the authorities or told Mama Valerius what had happened. I simply told them that I had been afraid. When they asked me if I had attacked Mr. Harper out of self-defense, I said that he had just fallen, and I had run away.

Although the chief investigator didn't seem to fully believe my story, everyone else was very sympathetic. He finally admitted that I must be innocent since I was really too small and weak to cause the kind of damage that had been done to the janitor. Also, police records showed that Mr. Harper had once served jail time for an attempted robbery, so that erased all further doubts from the minds of the officers. I was released immediately, and Mama Valerius took me home. Meg visited shortly after we had arrived, and I gave her the same story that I had given the police.

She looked horrified by the time my tale was over. "Christine, you could have been badly hurt! You should have told somebody as soon as you escaped from him! Who knows what could have happened to you?"

I shrugged. "Why would I tell anybody, Meg? You and I both know that it would have been my word against his, and all that would have happened is the police would have dragged me in for questioning, just like they did this morning."

Meg shuddered. "To think that he's been working at the theater for all these years… it's a wonder that he never attacked anyone else!" Then, she added, "Do you know who helped you?"

"No," I answered. "I turned and ran. I didn't see who else was there." I traced the edge of my coffee mug. I was weary from the night before, as I hadn't slept, and I was tired of being interrogated. Still, I knew that I had my own interrogation to attend to later.

Meg left at last, and I went upstairs and collapsed onto my bed. My questions could wait until I had a few hours of sleep.

By the time I woke again, the moon and stars had risen in the sky. I groaned and stretched my sore muscles. As I sat up, I head a voice say, "How are you feeling?"

The voice belonged to the Angel of Music.

"Better," I replied. Then, "Angel, I need to know: what did you do to Mr. Harper?"

I heard him sigh before answering. "Christine, you shouldn't ask such questions. What happened last night is behind us… but I assure you, whatever I did was to protect you."

A small smile came to my face. Yes, that sounded just like my father: concealing information, yet assuring me at the same time. "Thank you, Angel," I whispered. "You've kept your promise."

Since Mr. Harper never worked again, being a mental case and all, my music lessons continued.

If the other chorus members had ignored me before, then they avoided me now. I guess they thought I was a targeted human being and that some of my bad luck might rub off onto them. However, I didn't mind; the less I was noticed, the less trouble I had sneaking back into the theater for my lessons. I had absolutely no worries of being discovered now that Mr. Harper was gone and the other singers avoided me like the black plague.

Thus, my angel kept my small world turning, always guiding me and protecting me... never leaving me.


	16. Reunion

**Chapter 15: Reunion**

My seventeenth birthday was fairly uneventful, although Mama Valerius and Meg organized a surprise party for me. How Meg kept the whole ordeal a secret still puzzles me; I would have thought that she would burst from excitement way before the event happened. Once again, I underestimated her.

Actually, she might have dropped hints at school. I really don't know. My head was always up in the clouds, thinking about my angel or about the music he taught me. Chances were that I would have found out about the party long beforehand if I had been paying attention; Meg is an absolutely horrible secret-keeper. Unfortunately, I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, so when a large group of people jumped out and yelled "surprise!" as soon as I walked through the door, I was truly shocked and gave the party guests their desired effect.

I must confess, I had a difficult time hiding my dismay at coming home expecting peace and quiet but instead finding a room full of loud people. I haven't ever liked being surrounded by large groups of people; I especially hate being the center of attention. Having so many eyes watching me made me feel like the poor, squirming bug under the microscope.

However, I could tell that Mama Valerius and Meg were ecstatic to arrange something so huge for me, so I buried my inner feelings and spent the evening smiling and listening to my guests, nodding politely every once in a while. The entire party, I wished that I was upstairs, alone and falling asleep to the smooth voice of the Angel of Music.

Oh, but when I opened presents! Meg gave me clothes (typically), Mama Valerius gave me a blank journal and pen – I've always been a diary-writer – and one small box contained a lovely charm bracelet. The box bore no nametag, but the charms on the bracelet were a rosebud, a musical note, and an angel. Meg and the other guests looked confused, but Mama Valerius and I exchanged a meaningful glance, for both of us knew whom this mysteriously unmarked present was from; no uncertainties were in our minds.

o0o

After Thanksgiving break, I was just sitting down at my desk in the anatomy classroom when I noticed that Meg and a couple of other girls where whispering excitedly in the back of the room. Curious due to their odd behavior, I asked, "What's going on?"

Jamie, a pretty girl with light brown hair, giggled. "A new boy is here today! He's supposedly gorgeous!" At this remark, all of the girls started giggling uncontrollably again. They stopped only when Mr. Reymer, the teacher, said loudly in his funny French accent, "Alright, ladies! Everyone please open their textbooks to page one hundred seventy-two… you included, Miss Lewis."

I opened my textbook and found the right page. Then, I started studying the text. I didn't even look up as someone entered the room, and I just rolled my eyes when the other girls in the classroom started giggling absurdly again.

"Uh, hi, this is the anatomy classroom, right?"

My head looked up quickly. I knew that voice…

Yes, there he stood. His appearance had changed as his voice had changed, but otherwise, he looked exactly like I remembered him: golden hair, blue eyes, and his smile, which was currently a smile of apology. _It can't be..._

"I was given directions, but I thought I was lost for a minute," he continued.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Reymer, glancing at a piece of paper that was sitting on his desk. "Well, we're very glad to have you, Mr. de Chagny. Now, would you be so kind as to go sit at the desk in front of Miss Daaė?" He pointed at me, and every head turned to look in my direction.

Darn, now why did Mr. Reymer have to draw attention to me?

"Daaė?" the boy asked, shocked.

"Yes, Miss Christine Daaė."

He spun around, and his clear-blue eyes met mine.

I could tell that he recognized me instantly. Then, as he went to sit down, he winked at me, setting the other girls off on another giggle spree.

I smiled back hesitantly.

I had a hard time concentrating on the lesson. I was too busy remembering a time that I'd believed was gone forever, a childhood that had been lost.

As soon as anatomy was over, I all but ran to my locker. I was putting my notebook and textbook away when I head the boy's voice say, "So, Little Lottie isn't quite so little anymore."

I turned and smiled at the boy, who was grinning happily. "You remember my nickname?"

He laughed. "Of course I remember!"

"I could say the same of you, Raoul." I tilted my head up to see more of him. "You've grown so tall!"

His grin became wider. "No, you're just short," he teased. Then, he added, "I'm glad to see that I'm not going to be forced to run after your scarf again. Still, who am I to complain? After all, you did finally start paying attention to me after that day."

I laughed and blushed at the memory. When I was twelve years old and lived near the ocean, I was taken to the beach for a picnic with some of my friends and their families. My mother had given me permission to wear her red scarf. Unfortunately, a gust of wind blew the scarf into the water. Then, the older brother of one of my friends ran into the cold waves to fetch the scarf for me. From that day forward, Raoul de Chagny was my dearest friend. After my mother's job forced us to move yet again, I had thought that I would never see him again. How delighted I was now that I had been wrong!

"So, what class do you have next?" I asked.

"I have history this next period," he answered.

"I have history, too!" I said enthusiastically. Then, alarmed by my behavior, I added quickly, "I mean, I could walk with you… you know, so I can show you the right classroom to go into, and…"

"That would be great!" He interrupted cheerfully. I didn't mind, though. Then, he took my books from me – despite my protests – and we walked off down the busy hallway together.

As we walked, Raoul told me that he had just moved to New York with his older brother, Phillipe, because he was probably going to start interning for his brother's company, who was already a successful businessman. His two sisters and his mother were still living in North Carolina.

I couldn't help but notice the giggling and jealous-filled glares that were directed at me by the other girls. Still, I was filled with joy that my childhood kindred-spirit was now living nearby. The joy swelled to a great bubble… the way bubbles always swell just before they are popped.


	17. Jealousy

**Chapter 16: Jealousy**

Looking back now, I'm surprised the Angel of Music didn't interfere sooner. I later wondered why he didn't, as I believed that he was omnipresent. I now know why, though: he didn't know.

Not that I hid my friendship with Raoul. I, in my innocence, believed that anything that made me happy would make my angel happy. I was so childish, thinking that he existed to teach me music. I truly thought that my happiness was his happiness.

During the first few weeks after my reunion with Raoul, this belief certainly seemed to be true. You see, Raoul was like a ray of sunshine, spreading warmth and light wherever he went. His smile and laughter were infectious, so the more time I spent with him, the more I relaxed and improved my attitude towards life. My angel was very pleased with my newly-found enthusiasm, and he gave me praise rather frequently during my lessons. Also, he started leaving notes on my nightstand once a week with silly sayings on them to brighten my mornings. A bright-red rose always accompanied these notes.

The Angel of Music wasn't the only one to benefit from my cheerfulness. Poor Mama Valerius had been worried about me for quite some time. She never asked for the reason behind my changed attitude; that dear, sweet lady was simply thankful that I was no longer depressed.

Meg, after being introduced to Raoul, started hinting that I should take the next step in Raoul's and my relationship. I, however, was perfectly content with our friendship. We shared a child-like bond: innocent, naïve, and unbreakable. I tried to explain to Meg that Raoul and I shared no romantic interest, but she didn't believe me.

Heaven knows that she wasn't the only one.

One night, after my lesson was finished, I asked for permission to skip the next night's lesson. To my great surprise, the Angel of Music consented to my request. When he asked what I was planning to do during that time, I answered that I would be going out with some friends. Again, I didn't intend to use deception; he didn't inquire further, so I let the subject drop, never realizing it mattered that Raoul was going to be there.

I had a wonderful time that night. I did happen to notice that Raoul was looking at me rather strangely. Every time my eyes met his, I would quickly look away, blushes creeping up the sides of my face. I found that I couldn't look into his sparkling, clear-blue eyes without stuttering and blushing profusely. I wondered if I was sick, but I felt fine besides my trouble sudden shyness. This upset me because I didn't know how much I cared for him, and I didn't know that he was beginning to look at me differently.

After he dropped me off at my house, he touched my cheek ever so slightly. I forced myself to swallow and say, "Thank you for such a wonderful night." He smiled, but the smile seemed to be forced. Then, he leaned towards me and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. I froze, mixed emotions of panic and pleasure rushing through me. As soon as Raoul left, I all but stumbled inside. Mama Valerius laughed and asked what was wrong. I just smiled weakly, replied with a vague answer that I don't remember now, and went upstairs to my bedroom. I entered the room willingly, unaware of the storm that was waiting for me.

I was smiling softly when I closed the door behind me. Then, as I turned on my lamp, I heard my angel's voice say, "You have betrayed me, Christine."

My eyes widened in shock upon hearing this accusation. Even more shocking was his tone of voice. Never before had he sounded so enraged. "N-no," I stammered, panic quickly rising within me. "I…you… What have I done to make you so angry with me?"

"You have deceived me," he answered in a cold voice. I shuddered. My angel's voice is powerful. It can make people weep with happiness or scream in terror. At that moment, it made me paralyzed with fear and dread. "I have given you freedom and have allowed you to spend your free time as have pleased… and you have gone and wasted that time falling head-over-heels for that _boy, _Raoul de Chagny."

I gasped. Oh, my goodness, he was upset with me because of _Raoul? _That just wasn't right. We were just _friends, _for crying out loud!

_Friends don't kiss, _the cynical side of my brain sneered.

_It was only on the cheek!_

_It doesn't matter. A kiss is still a kiss._ I tried to ignore that thought, and desperately, I tried to explain myself to my angel."No, you don't understand…"

"No, Christine; _you _are the one who does not understand," he interrupted by snapping. "I gave you my trust, and now, you have betrayed me and your father. I was sent by him to teach you music, but if you insist on giving yourself to the pleasures of earth instead of the joys of heaven, I will be your teacher no longer."

"I… I thought…" I swallowed hard. "I thought you would be happy for me." A tear trickled down my cheek. His words had hit me harder than a slap in the face. My heart was sorely wounded when he said, _"You have betrayed your father."_ Those words caused me more pain that anything else.

"Christine," he now said in a stern voice. "Do you want me to leave you and return to heaven?"

"No," I whispered. What else could I do? I owed him so much, and he asked so little of me. Still, that thought didn't decrease the pain in my chest.

"Then you must stop seeing Raoul de Chagny."

Something broke inside of me.

"You will be cordial yet cool during your classes, and you will not see him outside of school hours. You will also discourage him from seeking your affection. The last thing you need is a little boyfriend to distract you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Angel." I answered in a voice that was barely audible.

A sigh was heard. "Very well, then. Would you like me to sing you to sleep?"

I shook my head numbly.

The Angel of Music sighed again. "Goodnight, then, Christine."

I cried myself to sleep that night.

Later, when I told Mama Valerius about what had taken place, she said, as though it was obvious, "Why, my dear, of course the Angel of Music wants you to stop seeing that boy! He's jealous."

That simple remark made me finally realize what I had been forcing myself to deny: I was in love with Raoul de Chagny.


	18. To Be a Man

**Chapter 17: To Be a Man**

_**Erik**_

She was wearing my charm bracelet again, and I could not help but smile. It was such a little thing, but I felt that when she wore it, she was even more _mine. _The meaning behind the angel and music charms were obvious, but I had included on more: a rose. While I am sure Christine believed she knew what it meant; however, she could not possibly have known. You see, the rose symbolized my love for her. At the present moment, it was delicate and fragile, but I fervently hoped that it would bloom into something beautiful.

All I had to do was gain her love.

As confident as I might sound, I did not have any confidence concerning Christine. Oh, I had confidence that I could make her voice reach new heights and draw her out of her shell, but I knew I was foolish to expect her affection. She was young and beautiful, whereas I was… well, I just _was. _Still… I could not stop myself from trying.

I suppose that is why I panicked when I saw her with that _boy, _Raoul de Chagny. Why, oh _why, _did she have to acquire a boyfriend now? Never before had she shown any romantic interest in a boy! And, I consented for her to go on a date with him! When she asked me so sweetly if she could skip one lesson, I gave her my willing permission. She had been working hard and was improving greatly, and I wanted to reward her. That night, I made my way to her house. Lately, I had started singing to her every night, and I greatly enjoyed our time together. It made me feel like I was more… well, _real _to her, somehow, as if I was actually a man instead of just a teacher and a comforter.

Then, I saw them. He walked her to her door, which she should not have allowed. My initial thought was, _Who is that boy? _As I watched with growing horror, she smiled and him and he kissed her cheek. I saw his face. His name was Raoul de Chagny, a fellow student at her high school (I paid close attention to everyone in contact with Christine… for her safety, you see). My fists clenched of their own accord, the nails on my fingers making my palms bleed. I saw red, and I had to force myself not to do anything stupid. Before I could see anything else, I hurried to my usual hiding place.

I did not have to wait long. Christine soon entered her room with an irritatingly dreamy smile on her face. After she closed her door, I made my presence known. "You have betrayed me, Christine."

I will not lie to you; I morbidly enjoyed seeing her shock and fear. _Ah, yes, Christine; you cannot hide from me. The angel sees… the angel knows…_

"N-no," she protested, her eyes wide and innocent. "I…you… What have I done to make you so angry with me?" I _hated _it, hated the way she lied to me and pretended to have no knowledge of what she was doing. I can tolerate almost everything from Christine except a lie. She is a pitiful little liar, you know. "You have deceived me," I growled. "I have given you freedom and have allowed you to spend your free time as have pleased, and you have gone and wasted that time falling head-over-heels for that _boy, _Raoul de Chagny." She paled and gasped as though shocked, which filled me with disgust. "No, you don't understand…"

"No, Christine; _you _are the one who does not understand," I snapped, tired of her excuses and lies. "I gave you my trust, and now, you have betrayed me and your father. I was sent by him to teach you music, but if you insist on giving yourself to the pleasures of earth instead of the joys of heaven, I will be your teacher no longer."

"I… I thought…" she said in a small voice, "I thought you would be happy for me." She was crying by that point, but for once, her tears did not move me. _Happy? _How was I supposed to be happy that the girl I loved was practically throwing herself at an immature. ignorant boy? "Christine," I said coldly, "do you want me to leave you and return to heaven?" Of course, I would never actually follow through with that threat, but it the only way I could be assured of keeping her. It was cruel of me - I will confess it - but the perverse side of me wanted to make her hurt the way she had hurt me. I wondered if Jesus Christ himself felt similarly when Judas Iscariot betrayed him with a kiss. "Then," I commanded, "you must stop seeing Raoul de Chagny. "You will be cordial yet cool during your classes, and you will not see him outside of school hours. You will also discourage him from seeking your affection. The last thing you need is a little boyfriend to distract you. Do I make myself clear?"

For a moment, I did not think she was going to answer me. Then, she quietly said, "Yes, angel."

I sighed in relief. "Very well, then." For the first time that night, I began to wonder if I was too harsh with her. _No, of course not. She needs you. _Shaking my head, I offered, "Would you like me to sing you to sleep?"

She shook her head. I wanted to press her, to hear her angelic voice, but something similar to a conscience told me that I needed to leave. "Goodnight, then, Christine."

I sat awake for a long time that night. I could not compose or read or design… everything I attempted to create turned out to be rubbish, and I threw it into the fireplace. I moaned and rubbed my gruesome face against my hands. Part of me knew that I was pushing Christine too much. She was sensitive, naïve, and shy, while I was demanding and impatient. Add the age difference and the… well, obvious physical differences and it seemed impossible. Perhaps twenty years ago, I would not have looked at her twice. But, as I built my empire and acquired wealth and power, I also gained something else: loneliness. Although I was a recluse by nature, my work and even my music could not fill the empty place that Christine dug in my heart. All I wanted was to be a normal man. If I was normal, I would have written her song after song, proclaiming my undying adoration for her. If God had seen it fit to grant me a normal face - even a plain face! - I would have wooed her and swept her off her feet like a daring prince in a fairy tale. If I was a normal man, I would have been worthy of her.

But, I was not a normal man. I was repulsive and ill-tempered and frightening. If Christine was an angel on earth, I was a demon condemned to a life of solitude. And, what could a demon possibly have to offer an angel? Yet, I had no control over myself when it came to her. I needed her, and I was not about to let some sniveling boy steal her away.

Suddenly, a plan came to me. I immediately tried to push it away, but with each passing moment, it grew more appealing. Within a matter of minutes, I knew exactly how I was going to make Christine see me as a man.


	19. Compromise

**Chapter 18: Compromise**

_**Christine**_

After I was forbidden by the Angel of Music to continue my relationship with Raoul – friendship or otherwise – I went into the deepest set of depression that I had faced since the death of my mother. I would go to school, come home, spend the rest of the day in my bedroom, and cry myself to sleep. For three months, I followed this exact routine without fail.

The morning after the Angel of Music had given his orders, I found Raoul standing in front of my locker. He smiled as I neared him. I lowered my eyes as I fumbled with the combination for my locker as I silently begged, _Please don't, Raoul… please go away. _

Unfortunately, Raoul doesn't read minds.

"Hi, Christine!" He greeted happily.

I continued to ignore him as I took my binder out of my locker.

He continued relentlessly. "So, I was wondering… what do you think about last night? I mean, I know it was a surprise to you… I'm still surprised myself. Still, I was wondering how you felt about it?"

I fought down the urge to turn and look at him. I could hear the smile in his voice and I knew that his eyes would be shining with hope. As I still didn't answer him, he grew concerned. "Christine, did I offend you last night? Look, I'm sorry… if you didn't like it, it won't happen again."

_If I didn't like it! _My problem was that I liked it far too much! I closed my locker and turned to walk away, but he grabbed my elbow.

His perfect face was far too close to me… his mouth… his freckles… his eyes…

Those blue eyes were filled with concern.

"I really am sorry, Christine." He was anxious now, his eyes darting across my face for some kind of sign. "Can't we just forget about it?"

I took a deep breath. "Raoul… that's not the problem. I can't see you anymore. I can't even be your friend anymore. I wish I could explain, but I can't. I'm sorry."

He was so stunned by my words that I had no trouble pulling free of his grip. I headed towards my first class and didn't look back.

He never knew that I had tears in my eyes as I walked away from him.

In the days that followed, I was more than obedient to the Angel of Music; I went out of my way to avoid Raoul. When I arrived at school, he would be waiting for me on the steps. He waited every day for me to arrive… and every day, I would walk past him without saying a word or so much as glancing at him.

Every day, I saw the pain in his eyes as I repeatedly ignored him.

As much as I hated causing Raoul any kind of pain, I dared not provoke the Angel of Music. I owed him my loyalty. After all, hadn't he rescued me from Mr. Harper? Hadn't he somehow arranged for me to live with Mama Valerius rather than some strange foster family? He had done so much for me that I couldn't possibly refuse him the first request he had made of me… even if that meant losing Raoul.

Still, whatever pain Raoul felt was absolutely nothing compared to the pain in my own heart.

Poor Mama Valerius… my frequent changes from uncontainable joy to misery in periods of just a few months had to upset her. She hated seeing anything except a smile on my face. She wanted me to be happy. As strong as was her faith in the Angel of Music, she was beginning to question his reasons for forbidding any relationship – especially a friendship – with Raoul. Of course, she never spoke of these worries… no words were needed. I could see them on her face whenever she looked at me. She just didn't understand why the Angel of Music was so jealous of Raoul that he had forbidden me to be friends with my childhood playmate.

Believe me, she wasn't the only one.

However, my loyalty didn't stop me from questioning the Angel of Music's behavior. Not that I ever asked him; I would have been too afraid to ask him even if we had been on speaking terms. No, I simply sought theories and explanations in my mind late into the night.

I had to occupy myself somehow; sleep was nearly impossible.

One night, after I had once again merely pushed my dinner around on my plate with my fork, Mama Valerius finally spoke her troubled mind. She had been watching me with an obvious sense of helplessness and concern, and she just couldn't bear to watch my suffering without speaking out any longer.

"Christine," she began tentatively. "Surely the Angel of Music doesn't want you to be unhappy. Don't you think that just maybe he would still let you be friends with Raoul?"

I sighed, trying to be patient. For all of Mama Valerius' supposed knowledge of the spiritual world, she knew nothing of angels. At the very least, she knew nothing of _my _angel… nothing of his insanely possessive, jealous nature. She knew nothing of his determination to keep my focus solely on him and his music.

_Friends. _Ever since I had discovered that I loved Raoul, I had known that we could never be _just friends_ again. Furthermore, the Angel of Music knew this, so even if I lied to him – which was unthinkable – he would still refuse to allow any sort of relationship whatsoever between me and Raoul de Chagny. A relationship between the two of us – friendship or no friendship – was simply impossible, a closed road from which I was banned, for the gates had been closed and barred forever. All that was acceptable in my behavior towards him in the eyes of the Angel of Music was common yet cold courtesy. I was only allowed to give Raoul polite, tolerant smiles, and oh! I wanted to give him so much more, for so much of me seemed to cry out for me to give everything to him!

So, I could only give Mama Valerius one horribly definite answer.

"No."

She sighed and rose from the table. As she gathered the dishes, I head her muttering, "It just doesn't seem right, even if he _is _an angel." Then, as I left the kitchen, I could hear her still grumbling about the Angel of Music being unfair and acting only out of jealously. I pretended not to hear.

Once I was in my room and safely out of the sight of Mama Valerius, I sat on my bed and rubbed my aching temples with the tips of my fingers. As I tried to massage away my headache, a strange thought occurred to me. For the second time – whether intended for my ears or not – that she had stated her opinion of the Angel of Music being jealous of Raoul. This theory bewildered me. _Why _would he be envious of my relationship with Raoul? After all, didn't I sing for him and unquestioningly obey him? My whole life was orchestrated by him. Would allowing me to make the decisions in this one small area of my life really be so very awful?

Despite my complete obedience, my relationship with the Angel of Music was strained. My music lessons were strictly lessons. I could tell that he was unhappy with this; he used to have me talk to long lengths after my lessons. Sometimes, we would talk very late until the night until it wasn't night at all but early morning. Now, I would sing, he would correct my flaws, and I would go home.

He never spoke to me outside of my lessons, either. Nor did he sing to me at night anymore. Oh, he tried those first few nights after he forbade me to continue my relationship with Raoul… but I would always decline his offer. I suppose I hurt him greatly, but if that was the case, it was never made known by him.

Although I was extremely upset by the Angel of Music's demand, a part of me missed him. A part of me still wanted him to lead me. That same piece of me still wanted his haunting, unworldly voice to sing me to sleep at night. This longing was impossible to hide, impossible to ignore, even when I was avoiding meeting Raoul's eyes at school. Even when I was in the midst of missing Raoul the very most, I still missed my angel even more.

Yet, what could I do? Could I just allow the Angel of Music to dictate and manipulate my life, wishes, and decisions?

In my heart of hearts, I knew the answer: yes.

That night, I had the most terrifying nightmare that I had dreamt thus far.

_The horrible Angel of Death had me clasped in his arms once more. I could see a light in the distance burning warm and beautiful. I yearned to reach this light. The corpse tried to turn my head away from the bright glow. When I resisted, he pressed my head against his bony chest, attempting to block my view. He then started to take me with him into the dark, cold shadows of nothingness._

I was screaming from panic when I felt someone shaking me. My eyes flew open to see the concerned face of Mama Valerius.

"Christine!" she said anxiously. She was still shaking me frantically. "Are you alright?"

I took a few shaky breaths. "I'm okay, Mama. I guess I must have been having a nightmare."

She didn't look convinced. "Are you sure?" she prodded, her worry evident in her tone and expression.

I sighed wearily. Of course I was sure; I _knew _that I wasn't okay. I was confused and afraid. How could I be okay? How would she be able to help me even if I wasn't okay?

How could anybody help me?

Really, only one person could help me. His presence, though, had long since ceased to be felt in my bedroom. In that moment, I wanted my angel more than ever. No, didn't want him… I _needed _him. How ironic that he wasn't there when I needed him the very most! How cruel for me to have to face this alone! For who else could possibly help me?

Mama Valerius certainly couldn't help me, not in her elderly, fragile state. My troubles would only ail her. Not only would she not be able to sufficiently comfort me, but to tell her of my anxieties would be entirely selfish on my part. My longing for someone with whom to discuss my fears couldn't be satisfied through her, I would rather face my demons alone than force her to face them with me.

So, I had only one option, and that was to lie.

"I'll be alright now, Mama." I spoke as soothingly as possible, as if she was the one who needed comforting. I smiled – at least, I _tried _to smile – in a convincing manner. "You should go back to bed; you must be cold. Thank you for checking on me, but I really will be just fine."

She stared at me for several long moments, obviously deciding whether or not to humor my pathetic lies. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh and left. I could tell by her hunched shoulders that she was hurt that I wouldn't be honest with her. I almost called her back, but I clamped my mouth shut against the traitorous words. I would not put any more of my burdens on dear Mama Valerius.

After the sound of her footsteps had faded, I started sobbing into my pillow. Life seemed hopeless for me. I couldn't please one person without hurting another. My own happiness appeared to be unfeasible. Everything was tangled together in a huge, painful knot.

The silence that echoed my sobs nearly broke my heart. I could not bear to be alone any longer.

In that moment, I cried out one name. I did not cry out the name of Mama Valerius, or the name of Raoul de Chagny. I did not even cry out the name of my father. In that moment, I cried out the name of the one and only being that could send me comfort.

"Angel!" I cried. "Please, please come and comfort me. Please come; I need you!"

Then, I sat in the darkness, listening silently. I prayed to God that my angel would hear and answer me… and God answered my prayer.

"I am here, Christine."

His voice moved me to tears. I was speechless for several minutes as the tears poured down my cheeks.

He was the one to break the silence. "Child, why do you weep?" The pain was evident in his voice.

"I'm crying because this is all so hard!" My voice shook from all of my sobbing. "No matter how much I try to please everybody, someone always ends up being hurt! I – I just – I don't know what to do anymore! Mama Valerius is worried sick about me… I can tell! Not only that, but you have left me, so I'm completely on my own without anyone to help me. Why, Angel? Why did you leave me?"

"My dear child, I… Christine, I have never left you!" He sounded as though he was pleading with me. I stared at the ceiling, confused.

"But… I…" Then, I understood. He had never left me. _I _had left _him. _I was the reason he had stopped singing to me at night. I had pushed him away.

"Oh." This was all I could say as the realization hit me.

"Did I not promise that I will never leave you? I swear to you, Christine; I will never break that promise."

"I – I know." I felt so ashamed. I lowered my head.

"Christine… you look very unhappy. I can see it on your face. Do you miss the boy that much?"

"Raoul is my very best friend. He means so much to me." I didn't add that I was in love with him; I was beginning to feel hopeful that the Angel of Music would retract his command. I didn't want to risk losing any chance of being allowed to be Raoul's friend again.

I heard the Angel of Music sigh. "Then, you may be his friend once more. For I cannot bear to see you unhappy, Christine."

I smiled with excitement. "Thank you, Angel! Thank you so much for understanding!"

"Christine…" My smile faded slightly at the obvious reluctance and pain in his voice.

"Yes?" I asked nervously.

"You may be friends with Raoul de Chagny, but you must make a promise to me right now."

"What do you want me to promise, Angel? I will promise you anything, if only to be Raoul's friend again." I would have done anything, given anything. I missed Raoul so much.

"Christine, you must promise me that you will never kiss him."

I was stunned. Of course, I would comply… but what an odd request! Not that I minded; I wanted to save my first kiss for my wedding day. I was quite proud that I had never given myself physically – not even with my lips – to any boy. So, this promise was easy to make.

"I promise."

"Are you certain?"

Now, _that _stung. "Do you question my honesty?" I asked, hurt.

"No, I do not doubt your honesty. I just need you to be absolutely certain about this, Christine."

"Angel, I promise."

He sighed again. "You are already pulling away from me, Christine," he said remorsefully.

"Angel, I'm right here! I'm not going to pull away from you. You're still my Angel of Music." I was totally shocked. A dull warning sounded in my heart, but I was far too bewildered to pay it much mind. I couldn't place the exact cause that gave me this idea, but something was definitely off in the tone of his voice. Something was very wrong…

"I hope you are being truthful," he replied quietly. Then, "Goodnight, child; I hope you have pleasant dreams."

All of my suspicions towards his behavior vanished. "Goodnight? But… won't you sing for me? Please?"

A few moments of silence passed. "Do you want me to sing?" the Angel of Music asked. "I will sing if that is what you want."

"Please sing," I requested.

"Very well, then," was his answer. He started to sing. I closed my eyes to hear the voice that I knew would chase away my nightmares. His voice lulled me into a soothing slumber within minutes.

My last conscious thought: _I wonder why he thinks he's losing me?_

I had never dreamed sweeter dreams than the dreams I dreamed the night my angel returned to me.


	20. The Power She Has Over Me

**Since it has been so long, I'm giving you two chapters at once. Enjoy, read, and review!**

**Chapter 19: The Power She Has Over Me**

_**Erik**_

I clenched my fist as I listened to her conversation with Mrs. Valerius. While I never made a point to eavesdrop on people before meeting Christine, I found that I could not resist when she was involved.

Do you see what that girl does to me?

""Surely the Angel of Music doesn't want you to be unhappy," the elderly woman was saying now. "Don't you think that just maybe he would still let you be friends with Raoul?"

I shook my head even as Christine replied, "No." She offered no explanations, even though I am sure she did not understand herself. She's a good, obedient girl, my Christine.

Then, I caught a glimpse of her face. She was pale, so very pale that I worried that she had not been eating well. Her eyes had dark circles underneath them, as if she hadn't been sleeping. Alarmed, I inhaled sharply. What was wrong with her? Surely she realized that she was going to make herself ill? I quickly moved so I could watch as she climbed into her bed. Briefly, as I watched her sleep, I wondered if I was pushing her too hard during her lessons. Perhaps I ought to give her a break?

She began tossing and turning. The moment she screamed. I was ready to enter her room, but I saw the hall light turn on. Shortly after, Mama Valerius entered the bedroom and started shaking her. "Christine?" she asked, her voice as full as concern as I felt. "Are you alright?"

Christine shuddered, and my heart went out to her. For a long time now, she had been plagued by nightmares, and this one seemed to have especially shaken her. She had never screamed before… it was terrible. "I'm okay, Mama," she answered wearily. "I guess I must have been having a nightmare."

"Are you sure?" the woman asked, obviously not believing Christine any more than I believed her pitiful lies. My angel hesitated, and then, she answered, "I'll be alright now, Mama." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You should go back to bed; you must be cold. Thank you for checking on me, but I really will be just fine." Her voice was soothing and full of love, and I felt a stab of jealousy. If only she would speak that way to _me…_

Finally, Mrs. Valerius left her young charge. Moments later, Christine started crying into her pillow. I watched helplessly, not knowing what to do to help her. I overestimated her strength, my poor girl. In my own selfish despair, I forgot how much she relied on me, and I had let her down. I turned to go, disgusted and angry with myself.

"Angel!" she cried. I stopped, stunned. "Please, please come and comfort me," she pleaded tearfully. "Please come; I need you!"

On my part, there was no hesitation. "I am here, Christine." To my dismay, my voice seemed only to make her cry harder. Fighting my frustration, I asked, "Child, why do you weep?"

"I'm crying because this is all so hard!" she answered, her voice shaking. "No matter how much I try to please everybody, someone always ends up being hurt! I – I just – I don't know what to do anymore! Mama Valerius is worried sick about me… I can tell! Not only that, but you have left me, so I'm completely on my own without anyone to help me. Why, Angel? Why did you leave me?"

"My dear child, I… Christine, I have never left you!" I protested, hurt and shocked. Had I not been watching her faithfully every possible moment? Had I not continued teaching her? Of course, now that I look back, I realize that I _did _leave her, but at the moment, I did not believe it. She _had _told me that she didn't want me to sing to her at night anymore, after all.

"But… I…" she began, confused. Then, realization dawned upon her features. "Oh."

"Did I not promise that I will never leave you? I swear to you, Christine; I will never break that promise." When would the foolish girl believe me?

"I – I know." She lowered her head. That is when I finally understood the reason behind her despair. She missed the boy. I clenched my fists again. _How _dare _she… _Then, I stopped myself. It was my own fault, was it not? And, I found myself asking the same question as Mama Valerius: would it really be so terrible for Christine to be friends with a boy? If I was honest with myself, then the answer was no.

"Christine… you look very unhappy. I can see it on your face. Do you miss the boy that much?"

She looked back up in surprise. "Raoul is my very best friend. He means so much to me." Her words caused me pain, but she looked so good, so innocent, that I made the foolish mistake of my life. With a sigh, I told her, "Then, you may be his friend once more. For I cannot bear to see you unhappy, Christine."

Her smile was like a stab to the chest. "Thank you, Angel! Thank you so much for understanding!" Her excitement made me nervous. "Christine…"

"Yes?" She sounded concerned.

"You may be friends with Raoul de Chagny, but you must make a promise to me right now," I instructed. I was confident now that she did not love the boy, I did not want her to be too attached to him since she would be leaving this world very soon.

"What do you want me to promise, Angel? I will promise you anything, if only to be Raoul's friend again," she assured me earnestly.

"Christine, you must promise me that you will never kiss him." I searched her face anxiously, wondering if she would be upset by my command…

And, she laughed. "I promise."

The ease of her promise bothered me. "Are you certain?" I demanded. She instantly looked hurt. "Do you question my honesty?"

Instantly, I was soothing her when _I _was the one who needed to be soothed. Do you see the power that one girl has over me?" "No, I do not doubt your honesty. I just need you to be absolutely certain about this, Christine."

"Angel, I promise," she swore seriously. I sighed. "You are already pulling away from me, Christine," I said sadly. I do not know what I said that now, but it shocked her.

"Angel, I'm right here!" she exclaimed, disturbed. "I'm not going to pull away from you. You're still my Angel of Music."

"I hope you are being truthful," I replied quietly. It was time for me to go; I needed to think. "Goodnight, child; I hope you have pleasant dreams. Again, I turned to leave.

Christine, however, had other plans for me. "Goodnight? she repeated, bewildered. "But… won't you sing for me? Please?"

She sounded so very dear and vulnerable in that moment that I could not refuse her. "Do you want me to sing?" I asked tiredly. "I will sing if that is what you want." _I would move heaven and earth itself if it would make her happy._

"Please sing," she requested.

"Very well, then," I said with a sigh. I started to sing to her, and she closed her eyes and smiled softly. Within a matter of minutes, she was asleep.

I stayed and watched her sleep, though I did not venture into her room. That sleeping girl had me wrapped around her little finger. She had the power to elate me or crush me. I was her singing slave, though I was once a great man. And, upon her request, I was allowing her to be friends with that boy again.

I shook my head, wondering at my own weakness. _What have I done?_

o0o

A week later, I happened to learn that _Faust _was going to be the next production at my theater. Instantly, I imagined Christine in the role of Marguerite. The time had come to show off my little songbird to the world.

Then… she would be mine.

She had enough power over me to turn me into a desperate man.


	21. Marguerite

**Chapter 20: Marguerite **

_**Christine**_

"Concentrate, Christine. You are flat."

I sighed impatiently. The Angel of Music had been making me sing all kinds of scale variations for the past hour, at the very least. I was bored with this and wanted to sing "real" music. He was pushing me to sing higher than I had ever attempted to sing before that lesson.

As the invisible piano played – for I had never discovered where the music came from that always accompanied me – I sang along, hitting each note perfectly... except for that last dreadful high note.

On that note, my reluctant voice cracked.

I blushed, expecting a sharp reprimand from the Angel of Music. I winced and braced myself.

He surprised me by saying nothing.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, wondering at his lack of response to my failure. "Can I take a break, please?"

"Of course," he answered calmly.

I sat on a stool that was just past the center of the stage. Once again, I tried to see if anyone was in the balcony, but as usual, the brightness of the spotlight prevented me from seeing past the first row.

"Does your throat hurt?" my angel asked in a kind but worried voice.

"No," I replied. I was relieved that my failure to reach the high note hadn't upset him. He seemed to understand that I was trying my hardest to please him.

I could never predict the Angel of Music's reactions to my inability to fulfill each and every one of his wishes. Really, I couldn't predict him in any situation. Sometimes, he would go into such a rage that he would bring tears to my eyes. Though this rarely happened anymore, he would always beg me to forgive him whenever he did lose his temper.

Sometimes, he would show his displeasure by growing cold and cynical. He would laugh in that horrible, mocking way. When he acted that way, either I would blush and duck my head, or I would become angry and sarcastic. When this happened, both of us would have to apologize after our tempers had subsided.

Yet, most often, he was gentle and didn't become angry at all. He would encourage me to try again, praising me once I finally succeeded. Oh, he would still criticize, but only in a constructive way.

So, since his mood wasn't unpleasant, I asked him, "Why am I still singing scales? I don't think I've sung them so much since the very first of my music lessons. They are becoming tedious."

"I am making you expand your vocal range, Christine."

I frowned. The tone of his voice aroused my suspicions. "This doesn't have anything to do with the auditions for _Faust_ next month, does it?"

"Now, now, Christine. Do not worry about the auditions; just concentrate on your scales," he said smoothly.

My eyes widened with fear. "Angel, I can't audition! I'll never be given a big part, anyway!" With a sickening feeling, I suddenly understood his plan fully. "Please don't tell me that you want me to audition for Marguerite!"

"Calm down, Christine. This is nothing for you to fret over, after all. Yes, I want you to audition for Marguerite. I believe you will be given the part with no competition, so do not worry."

I shook my head frantically.

He sighed and continued, still patient. "Christine, how long have you wanted to be a star performer?"

"Ever since I can remember," I answered reluctantly. He was about to talk me into auditioning, I could feel it. I didn't want to be reasoned with… not on this subject, anyway. Still, he would persuade me nonetheless.

"This is your chance to fulfill your dreams," he continued, excitement creeping into his voice. I groaned. Yep, it was coming. "You have been a part of the background for too long. Your time to stand center-stage has come."

"I'll never be cast as Marguerite," I informed him, still trying to fight against his enthusiasm.

"Why ever not?" He sounded genuinely surprised that I would say make such a statement.

I rolled my eyes. Weren't the reasons obvious? Well, apparently not to the Angel of Music.

"I'm too inexperienced," explained to him. "Besides, the managers will want someone older and famous to play the role of Marguerite. You should know that," I added reproachfully.

"The managers are fools and amateurs," was the Angel's swift and dismissive response.

Now, I was the one who was surprised. His words had implied that he was really saying," Who cares what the managers think? They are imbeciles!" How could he say that? Certainly no one else felt that way towards the theater's new managers, Richard Firmin and André Moncharmin. They had scarcely been running the theater for a year, but they had already made it into one of the most popular theaters in New York through clever publicity and using their business connections to bring in quite a few famous performers to participate into the plays and musicals. Mr. Firmin even had some musical training and had found a brilliant orchestra to be employed by the theater. Better still, the musicians had been undiscovered, so the theater paid no high price for their skills. Only Broadway itself was more productive.

The Angel of Music, however, was unimpressed as I listed each of the accomplishments made by the managers.

"I assure you, Mr. Firmin and Mr. Moncharmin are not as brilliant as they lead people to believe."

"You know this?" I was skeptical.

"Yes, I do. So, believe me when I say that you have excellent odds in your favor of being cast in the role of Marguerite."

I resisted still, though my will was fading. Hurriedly, I retorted, "This is the biggest production that will have ever been performed at the theater, though. _Faust _is a pretty big deal. What if my voice isn't right to play Marguerite?"

"Christine," he said gently. "Your voice is… exquisite. You have a far more pure and striking voice than any other singer who is employed by this theater. The managers are not deaf – though sometimes I do wonder – and even the most untrained ear would be able to recognize your genius."

"But, Angel… Marguerite is beautiful," I whispered. I looked down at the ground, totally ashamed and heart-broken. My lack of abilities as a singer weren't all that kept me from wanting to audition. Not even my annoyance at being roped-in once more by the Angel of Music was what held me back. If I was honest with myself, my appearance is what really made me so reluctant. This was the basis of most of my insecurities. My skin was uncompromisingly pale, my blue eyes still too large, and I was still small and thin. I continued to stare at the ground. Without a doubt, the Angel of Music would reply with some statement about the unimportance of outward beauty (this was something he pounded into my head over and over again). He would no doubt tell me that I was being very vain and foolish indeed.

For the second time that night, he surprised me.

"You _are _beautiful, Christine."

A small smile reached my lips. I hadn't expected my angel to say _that, _of all things! Another lecture on how everything except a good singing voice and cleverness was meaningless _would _have been expected. Never had I expected to be called beautiful by anybody, least of all the Angel of Music. I had never been called beautiful or even pretty by anyone.

"Really?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course, Christine. I have always thought that you are no less than completely beautiful." Suddenly, he seemed uncomfortable with the subject, for he quickly said in a business-like tone, "Are you ready to sing again?"

"Yes, Angel," I answered. As I stood, I could feel my smile broadening.

"Begin," he instructed. The piano played the scale, and once more, I sang along. This time, though, the high note came out of my throat strong and clear.

I was absolutely ecstatic as I squealed, "Angel, did you hear? I sang it!" I was acting just like a little girl, but I didn't care, I was so excited.

"Very good, Christine," he said approvingly.

I was laughing in my excitement. Between reaching the high note and my Angel saying that I was beautiful, that day had become one of the best days of my life so far.

o0o

Over the next few weeks, the Angel of Music worked me harder than ever. He strengthened my voice and continuously badgered me about good breath control and posture. I was at the theater late at night, and more than once, I fell asleep in class at school from the lack of sleep. Fortunately, Raoul and Meg always saved me by giving me the answers if one of our teachers happened to ask me a question while I was snoozing. Since I sat in the back of my large classrooms, the teachers never found out that I often used class time as nap time.

Despite all of the work involved – or perhaps because of it – I was excited about auditioning. My voice had never been stronger or sounded better, and my Angel constantly told me that I would easily win the part of Marguerite. I believed him, too. After all, I had complete faith in him, and he had never lied to me.

The night before the auditions were to be held, I lay in bed, slightly nervous about what the following day would bring. The Angel insisted that I go to bed early, though I would have felt better if I could have practiced more.

"Angel." I hesitated, knowing that I was supposed to be asleep. "Are you sure that I can do this?"

Sure enough, he answered, "Christine! You are supposed to be sleeping."

"I can't sleep." I raised myself onto my elbow. "I just don't feel ready. What if I forget the lyrics? What if the managers don't like my voice? What if one of the other singers is better than me?" The fears were beginning to make me second-guess my own abilities.

"You will do well, Christine. I have faith in you. Do not worry." His soothing voice calmed my apprehensions, and I yawned. "If I sing to you, will you close your eyes and try to go to sleep?"

"Yes." I settled back into my bed. "Goodnight… and thank you."

As his song began, I closed my eyes. His voice was so beautiful. No other sound could compare to his voice, especially when it was in song. His voice made me forget my fears and anxieties. Certainly, they would return… but not that night. Nothing could touch me while the Angel of Music's voice sang over me. Of that I was completely confident. I was safe with him protecting me.

I didn't have to try to sleep; the Angel of Music's voice wanted me to sleep, and who was I – weak, moral girl that I was – to resist its magic?

A later day, I would hate the power of his voice. I would loathe with everything within me the magic with which it completely enchanted me. Yet, on that night, I willingly yielded to its spell.

o0o

The next afternoon, sat in the back of the theater, hands clasped nervously between my legs. Meg and Raoul were sitting on either side of me. Raoul had offered to go with me to the auditions, and I had begged him to accompany me. I needed all of the support that I could find. I was a nervous wreck, and the butterflies in my stomach were fluttering relentlessly.

The dancer's auditions had been held that morning, so Meg was free to sit with us. She had done an excellent job, of course. She was sure to be given a part. Already, she had made a reputation for herself as one of the best ballerinas in the state of New York. Right now, though, she was determined to give me enough pep-talks to break through my tenseness.

"Relax," Meg instructed for the hundredth time. "Breathe, Christine. Just try to relax. You're going to hyperventilate if you don't breathe right. You'll do fine; don't worry."

"I can't relax," I moaned. An entire multitude of women had come to audition. Marguerite was a very sought-after role. All of the other women were more experienced and lovely than me. The fact that I was the youngest girl auditioning didn't help, either.

What was I doing, expecting – even hoping for – a lead role? Something had to be very wrong with me. Surely one of the other ladies would be given the part, but never an inexperienced seventeen-year old like me. Yes, something was _definitely _very_ wrong_ with me.

The lady who was now in the height of her audition had a particularly wonderful voice. The managers had announced her as La Carlotta, and from all of the excited whispers following the announcement, I could only guess that she was famous. A few of the other girls who were young like me had left the auditorium as Carlotta took the stage. Even more of the women – some of the obviously more experienced ones – had also likewise quietly exited as the soprano sang and impressed all. None of them returned, which only added to my nerves. If I was smart, I would follow their example. I started to rise, but Meg, seeing my intentions, had pulled back down beside her with my sleeve. "No, you don't!" she hissed.

I watched the managers anxiously. I could tell by their smiles that they liked what they were hearing. As her song ended, they were amongst the first to stand and applaud. Carlotta smiled triumphantly. I groaned in despair. I was crazy to even be sitting there. How could I even try to compete with _that?_

"I don't think she sounded all that great," Raoul remarked causally.

"Are you kidding me?" Astonished, I stared at him like he was crazy. Meg's expression matched mine. Obviously, even she had been impressed, biased though she was.

"She sounded like a dying chicken with Parkinson's Disease," he insisted. That set me off on a fit of giggles, and I was soon joined by Meg. Some of the nerves left me left me, and I silently blessed him. I was so grateful to Raoul. He was capable as anyone of chasing the butterflies away.

As the next singer – though obviously dispirited after hearing Carlotta's performance – began her song, I leaned over to Meg and whispered, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be right back." She nodded and I slipped out of the auditorium and into the hallway.

I was washing my hands at the sink when La Carlotta herself entered the bathroom.

My first impression of her as she examined her makeup was that she was remarkably good-looking. Yet, when scrutinized more closely, you could see the barest hint of a double-chin, the slight looseness of her lips, the proud fierceness of her eyes, and the sharp quality of her nose. Her facial appearance was showy and haughty. I felt like a small, timid rabbit in the presence of a great hawk, though I couldn't explain the causes of those feelings.

"You have a lovely voice," I told her shyly. I was hoping that the flattery would ease the atmosphere. I hoped that she would relax and soften her expression by smiling at me.

Instead, she just glanced at me, gave a dismissal up-turning of her nose, and said coolly, "Thank you."

"I suppose you auditioned for Marguerite?" I continued. A foolish question, but I wanted to find some way to be in the good graces of that marvelous soprano.

"Of course," she replied stiffly. Then, "Are you a stage hand?"

Crimson covered my cheeks. "No – no ma'am, I muttered. "I'm auditioning as well."

She smirked, obviously amused. "Well, good look to you," she said, sounding like she really didn't wish that at all for me. Never had that kind phrase sounded so insulting.

After she had sauntered out of the bathroom, tears came to my eyes. She had been so terribly rude. Why had she acted that way towards me? What had I ever done to her to provoke so much animosity?

"Christine…"

I jumped at the sound of the Angel of Music's voice. Then, my cheeks returned to their previous shade of scarlet. Geez, even in the bathroom, _seriously? _I wasn't even alone then?

That was _not _a comforting thought.

"Please, do not think that of me, Christine," pleaded my angel. He sounded offended.

"I don't," I said quickly, jumping again. I swore that he could read my mind during times like that… another discomforting thought.

"Angel," I continued timidly. He wasn't going to like what I was about to say. "I don't think I can do this. Coming here was a big mistake."

"Do not be intimidated by Carlotta. Haven't I told you often enough that your voice is incomparable? Your voice is a hundred times better than the screeching of La Carlotta. You have no reason to be afraid."

"But I _am _afraid," I pleaded. I wasn't only afraid; I was absolutely terrified. The mere thought of having all of those eyes on me – particularly the eyes of la Carlotta – made my knees shake.

The Angel of Music must have sensed a part of this, for he replied kindly, "I know you are afraid. You have a far better chance of becoming Marguerite than any other lady auditioning, though. Your father would be proud of you for auditioning."

_My father._

This was what my father had dreamed for me. He had wanted me to perform. The Angel of Music was right; my father would be proud of me for going up onto that stage and auditioning in spite of my fear.

That knowledge made me decide effortlessly.

"You're right," I agreed. "I will audition. I will make my father proud of me by fulfilling his dreams. I will do this."

Once I had said this, peace took over, removing the butterflies from my stomach. I was no longer afraid. Knowing that I would be making my father proud gave me courage. Winning the role of Marguerite was no longer about me. My own fears were folly. Any glory or fame accompanying the role of Marguerite would provide was not important to me. I had never lusted for glory; I was content to be a wallflower. No, when I sang, I wouldn't be singing for myself. I would sing solely for the two to whom I owed absolutely everything: my beloved father and the Angel of Music. I would sing to them from the earth, and they would hear me in heaven. With their support, I was brave enough to do anything.

"I will do this," I repeated.

"That's my girl. Now, go back to the auditorium. Do not be afraid; I will be there. I have faith in you, Christine."

I smiled, encouraged, then left.

As I slid back into my seat, Meg muttered, "You certainly took long enough. What happened? Did you fall in?"

I rolled my eyes as I heard Raoul's smothered laughter beside me.

"No," I said a bit more loudly than necessary for his benefit. "But," I added more softly. "I did meet Carlotta. I promise you, I've never met a bigger snob in my entire life."

Meg raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

I nodded. "She was very rude."

Raoul leaned towards me. "Is everything alright?" he asked, mock worry in his question. I wasn't fooled; I saw his barely-suppressed grin.

I smiled sweetly. "Yes, everything is fine," I said in a reassuring voice.

He smiled back, sincere this time. "Are you nervous?"

"No, I'm not nervous." How could I be nervous with both my father and the Angel of Music watching over me?

"Good. You'll be great," he stated with confidence. "But… maybe, for good luck's sake…" His eyes traveled to my lips, and my heart started beating faster. Not in a pleasurable sense of the term, either. _No… _my brain thought frantically. _The Angel of Music made me promise…_

"Christine Daaė?"

I jumped to my feet, relieved. "Yes?"

I could see Mr. Moncharmin's surprise as I stood. However, he quickly recovered and said, "Please come to the stage for your audition, Miss Daaė."

"Good luck!" Meg whispered excitedly. Raoul grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. He hid his disappointment well.

I sensed the viewer's amusement as I made my way to the stage. They must have thought that I was a very deluded child. The whispering I heard all around me affirmed this.

One haughty voice could be clearly heard above all of the others. "How funny!" Carlotta cried, not even bothering to speak in a low voice. "The little girl fancies herself a singer! The poor darling!"

I kept my head held high. _Let Carlotta poke fun at me, _I thought. _I'll show her. I don't care what she thinks._

Mr. Moncharmin, at least, seemed to feel sorry for me. "Everyone, please quiet down!" he requested loudly. Then, he added kindly, "Stand right here, my dear." He pointed out a spot on the stage with his finger. "Do you have a song prepared for us, Miss Daaė?"

"Yes, sir." My voice was clear and brave as I gave my answer. "I am going to sing _The Jewel Song._"

At this, Carlotta laughed with mirth. Some of the other women that I had seen crowding around her after her performance joined in her laugher. I could see Raoul and Meg tensing as my earlier statement about Carlotta's rudeness proved itself to be true. Mr. Moncharmin frowned at her.

"Very well," he said, still using a kind tone. I decided that he was a very nice man. "Our pianist will accompany you. She will begin when you are ready." He then left the stage to sit beside Mr. Firmin.

The music started. I took a deep breath. _I have faith in you, Christine. _The Angel of Music's words echoed in my head. Those words chased away the last of the shadows of fear, and a smile was on my face as I started to sing.

I sang for my father, for my angel. I smiled the entire time. I pictured my father out in the audience, his smile matching mine as he listened.

When my song was finished, there followed a complete, shocked silence.

Then, everyone applauded.

I grinned as I recognized Raoul and Meg cheering. They had started the clapping, and they were certainly cheering the loudest. I saw Raoul's smile grow as our eyes made contact and he winked.

I looked at the managers. Mr. Firmin wore a look of complete shock. Mr. Moncharmin had a huge smile on his face. He was among the loudest ones clapping for me.

I then looked at Carlotta.

Though she was clapping, I could tell that she was only doing so to save her face. The glare that she was giving me revealed her true thoughts.

Somehow, that glare made me feel even better about my performance.

"Well done, Miss Daaė!" My attention directed itself towards Mr. Moncharmin, who was grinning from ear to ear. "We will have the results of the casting posted on the auditorium doors tomorrow afternoon promptly at 4:00 p.m." Then, as I exited the stage, he added, "Thank you."

Meg greeted me with a big hug. "Wow, you sounded great!" she gushed enthusiastically.

Raoul hugged me also. "You _were _great," he agreed.

I was still grinning. "Thanks, guys."

Raoul answered my grin with one of his own, then leaned closer and whispered, "Maybe next time, right?"

I felt my smile start to fade but forced it to stay in place as I replied weakly, "Yeah, maybe next time."

At that moment, I was awfully glad that the Angel of Music was in heaven and couldn't hear us.

"Christine," my angel said to me that night. "You sang so beautifully today. I am very proud of you."

I blushed from his words. Not only did his generous compliment flatter me, but I was also feeling guilty about Raoul's statement and obvious intentions. "Thank you," I murmured shyly.

"Raoul de Chagny… I fear that he will soon try to take liberties with you, Christine." The Angel of Music's voice had become hard and untrusting, so different from the way it had sounded only moments ago.

"I will not allow him to take any liberties," I assured him. However, a small part of my mind sneered at that. _Are you sure, Christine? If Raoul tries to kiss you again, will you push him away from you, or will you let it happen?_

"You are certain of this?" The angel seconded my doubts.

I silenced the voice in my head as I asked him quietly, "I did promise you, didn't I?"

He sighed. "Yes, you did. I am sorry, Christine."

"It's okay," I said softly.

The angel returned to the earlier subject. "You have never sung more wonderfully. You have certainly captured the managers' attention. Surely they will be begging you to play Marguerite tomorrow."

I smiled. "That's a bit of a stretch, but we'll see," I yawned.

With that being said, I went to sleep, humming the music from _Faust _as itfilled my mind.

o0o

_Marguerite: La Carlotta Gudicelli_

_Marguerite (understudy): Christine Daaė_

I stared at the casting list in disbelief. There had to be some kind of mistake. I had been so certain…

The large cluster of congratulators around Carlotta confirmed that no mistake had been made. She stood in the center of the crowd, haughty and proud as ever. Her eyes met mine, and she cried, "But, we must not forget to congratulate Miss Christine Daaė!"

My cheeks burned with humiliation as people came to congratulate me. I could only stare at the ground. Carlotta seemed to take a great deal of joy in my scarlet cheeks, for the harsh, grating sound of her laughter reached my ears. "Why, the little dear is bashful!" she exclaimed.

I hid my face in my hands, absolutely mortified. I couldn't escape when so much attention was on me. With dismay, I realized that Carlotta was intentionally trapping me. This was her cruel way for paying me back for the auditions the day before, even though I had done absolutely nothing except sing well. I could tell that she wasn't intending to have any compassion on me; rather, she was enjoying my unfortunate situation. Oh, how I wished I could disappear!

Suddenly, a piercing siren filled the air. People started screaming, Carlotta loudest of all. The managers were yelling, "Everyone, please exit the building _calmly!_"

Their words were of no avail, for no one was calm as they rushed to leave the crowded hallway. Carlotta was pushing people out of her way, still screaming. In any other situation, I would have been amused. As matters stood, I was confused. If a fire was in the building, why didn't I smell smoke? Someone must either have pulled the fire alarm by accident or someone was playing a very elaborate joke on everyone and was laughing at all of them as they panicked.

As the people all ran past me all in a panic, a flash of understanding hit me: _someone had pulled the fire alarm on purpose! Someone had pulled it knowing that everyone would all go outside to escape a fire…_

I ran as fast as I could, silently thanking the Angel of Music.

o0o

"This is an insult! Those managers have insulted both of us!" fumed my angel a good many hours later.

I was sitting on my bed silently listening to him. I sighed wearily. Out of gratitude for his diversion in the theater earlier that had allowed me to escape the scene of embarrassment and of my respect for him, I had patiently let him continue his venting for a long time now. I yawned. At the moment, I didn't care whether or not the managers had done us a great insult by not assigning me to play the role of Marguerite. I was so tired and just wanted to sleep.

"Please… I'm very tired," was all I could say quietly. I was behind on sleep from practicing for the auditions so late every night… and the knowledge that my loss of sleep was pointless made me feel even more exhausted.

He calmed down at once upon hearing my weariness. "Of course," he said gently. "Goodnight. And, Christine… do not worry. I will fix all of this."

I was too far gone to feel anything but relief as I crawled under my covers. My tired brain was way too close to slumber to wonder how exactly he was planning to "fix all of this." I most likely should have asked him, but at that moment, I was just too tired to care.


	22. I Gave You My Soul

**Chapter 21: "I Gave You My Soul"**

I soon learned that Carlotta can only be described in one way: she is a diva.

Before long, almost all of the dancers and actors despised her. We were all thoroughly sick of seeing her strut around the stage like a peacock. She had impressed nearly all of us with her vocal skills during her audition. However, she just as strongly disgusted all with her severe lack of acting skills. Her unattractive personality always infected the characters she played. She could make even the most charming, appealing heroine appear snobby and obnoxious. Of course, those in the audience most likely didn't feel that way. Only those who had to be around her all of the time would have held that opinion. Believe me, although watching her as a removed spectator might have been incredible, working alongside Carlotta was a pain, not a privilege.

Her accent only complicated matters. Hers was an accent that was formed for comedies, not operas. I lost count of the number of times her awful pronunciations caused someone to miss a cue. For some reason I couldn't understand, the fault was never placed on Carlotta.

On top of all other complaints, her attitude was unbearable. If slightly provoked, she would pout, threaten to quit, and force both Mr. Firmin and Mr. Moncharmin to all but crawl on their hands and knees and plead with her to look past whatever had dared to insult her. Most of us privately wished that she _would _leave.

I must say, I was completely astonished by the Angel of Music's attitude towards my being assigned to be the Marguerite understudy. After that one night of fury, he only concentrated on teaching me how to best sing the role of Marguerite. Sometimes, if I was feeling down, I would ask him if he really thought my practicing was necessary. He would simply reply with, "You never know, Christine; it might just happen that Carlotta is unable to perform. This seemed most unlikely to me, but I didn't question him any further.

Personally, I only liked one aspect of Carlotta's character, and that was her tendency to skip rehearsals. This was not nice of me, I know, but I will say that I always acted agreeable and patient when I filled-in for her because I knew that her absence caused enough problems without me acting finicky. After only filling-in for Carlotta a few times, I was friends with the actors who had to work with her the most. They made their opinion of Carlotta clear by rolling their eyes whenever she graced us by coming to practices and by sighing with relief whenever she failed to appear. Frankly, she wasn't missed.

I don't know if she thought that she didn't need to rehearse or if she was just too lazy to come to all of the practices, but whenever this happened (which wasn't all that infrequent), I would have the chance to play Marguerite. Meg and some of the other performers would constantly tell me that I should have been given the part in the first place.

If the truth be told, I'm still to this day surprised that the managers didn't fire Carlotta. I could tell that Mr. Moncharmin, at least, was beginning to be very annoyed by her behavior. My guess is that Mr. Firmin is the sole reason that she kept her job. He seemed to not like me playing Marguerite. I suppose he wanted Carlotta to play Marguerite because she was famous. Surely Mr. Moncharmin would have preferred a well-known soprano to play the part, too, but I could tell that whenever Carlotta would just not appear at rehearsals without so much as calling to tell the managers that she wasn't absent, he didn't care whether or not she was famous. He only cared that she wasn't at practice, which inconvenienced everyone else.

Raoul hadn't tried to kiss me again, thank goodness. I didn't allow myself to be alone with him in order to prevent him from trying. I didn't even sit next to him anymore, though I would sit across from him. I was being paranoid – knew this – but I didn't want to risk the Angel of Music's anger, especially after his comment about Raoul trying to take liberties with me. That was just too close to the truth for comfort.

o0o

My eighteenth birthday passed. To my relief, Mama Valerius, Meg, and Raoul consented to celebrating the day privately amongst ourselves.

As we entered the kitchen to eat cake and ice cream, we all stopped in surprise. On the table sat a huge bouquet of red roses. A black satin ribbon was tied around their stems. When I stepped closer, I saw a card resting against the vase. The card said, "Happy birthday, my dear Christine." The handwriting was hastily scribbled in its form.

Meg giggled. Mama looked anxious. Raoul watched as I leaned over the roses and inhaled their scent. I smiled tenderly, knowing that my angel would be pleased by my obvious enjoyment of his gift.

"What does the card say?" Meg wanted to know.

I read the card aloud.

"Who are they from?" asked Raoul in an odd tone.

"I don't know his name," I answered honestly. "There isn't a name written on the card."

"So… is he some kind of secret admirer or something?" His voice sounded strained.

I turned to face him, surprised. He looked most uncomfortable. The envy I had heard in his voice was written all over his face.

"I wouldn't worry," I told him. I smiled, hoping he would relax. He exhaled a bit shakily and then returned my smile.

Though the rest of the night was fairly uneventful, I couldn't stop thinking about the look of envy on Raoul's face.

o0o

The day of the first show dawned. All of the performers were required to be at the theater very early for a final dress rehearsal and last-minute arrangements. I was rather tempted to just not go to the dress rehearsal. After all, I was only the understudy; why would my presence possibly be needed? However, I pushed these thoughts aside as I prepared for the day.

Once I entered the theater, one of the first things I noticed was that the managers, director, and conductor were in a very tight circle onstage, quietly conversing with each other.

"What is going on?" I asked Meg.

She sighed. "Carlotta claims that she is quite ill," she replied, emphasizing the word "claims." Seeing my shocked expression, she continued. "Mr. Moncharmin is all for letting you take her place, and the director agrees with him. Their argument is that every seat has been sold, so canceling the performance is impossible. Also, they say that you have rehearsed with the rest of the cast more than Carlotta and that you know every line and song perfectly. Mr. Firmin, on the other hand, wants to cancel tonight's performance and let Carlotta play Marguerite tomorrow night. His excuse is that the audience has paid to see a professional, not a chorus girl pretending to be a star. The conductor takes a different stand. He wants you to perform tonight, but he wants Carlotta to resume her roll tomorrow. He would much rather Carlotta play Marguerite – especially on opening night – but understands that as we have a full house, the show must go on." She rolled her eyes.

My head started spinning. Cancel the opening night of _Faust? _That was unthinkable! Every seat had been sold. If we didn't perform, the theater would lose a great deal of money and prestige. Surely even Mr. Firmin would realize that!

"Miss Daaė!" called Mr. Moncharmin. I looked at him. He seemed triumphant. "You will be playing Marguerite tonight. Go change into your costume!"

A squeal of excitement almost escaped my lips, but I didn't want to reinforce Mr. Firmin's belief that I was just a girl pretending that she could play a large role. Still, I was unable to restrain myself from smiling as I literally ran to the dressing room. Finally, I would have the chance to shine! I would no longer be a rabbit under the hawk's oppressive shadow!

I should have known that the hawk would do everything within her power to subdue the rabbit.

Halfway through the rehearsal, Carlotta stormed into the auditorium. She looked furious.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded angrily.

Mr. Moncharmin stepped forward. "Miss Daaė has kindly agreed to play the part of Marguerite tonight –"

"But that will no longer be necessary, seeing as you are feeling much better," Mr. Firmin interrupted hastily. Mr. Moncharmin gave his co-manager a look of reproach, but Mr. Firmin ignored him. "We are very glad to see that you will be able to perform after all," he added.

Carlotta sniffed and then turned to me. "Thank you for your willingness, but as you can see, you won't be needed after all." She smiled cruelly.

I blinked back the tears that began to form in my eyes. No… I couldn't cry in front of her… that would only make matters worse. "Good… good luck," was all I could say in response. Then, I turned and quickly left the auditorium.

Meg tried to follow me.

"That lady… she has to be the biggest _jerk _I've ever met in my entire life!" she spouted angrily.

"Meg, I need to be alone."

Her expression was instantly one of concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off, adding, "Please, Meg. Go back and practice." I was on the verge of a breakdown – I could feel it – and I didn't want her to see me lose control.

She sighed. "Okay." Then, after hugging me, she left me alone.

I locked the door as soon as I entered the dressing room. I sank into a chair and started sobbing. What had I done to cause that woman to hate me so much? Mr. Firmin too; why did he so obviously dislike me? What had I done to either of them to deserve this?

I cried for quite some time before I heard his voice.

_"Christine…"_

I shuddered, though I didn't know what caused me to do this. "Angel, I'm so sorry!" Fresh tears started falling from my eyes.

"Christine, this is _not _your fault," my angel said firmly. "Now, dry your eyes; there's a good girl. Warm up your voice, my dear. La Carlotta was not feeling well earlier; you might very well play Marguerite yet."

His voice soothed me. I obeyed him, only for the sake of obeying him. I refused to let myself hope that I'd perform after all; I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

o0o

I stood offstage, peeking out at the gathering audience. Raoul was somewhere out there, I knew, though I couldn't see him. I could hear the excited murmurings of the crowd. The orchestra below was warming up. I sighed and retreated back behind the stage, wishing that I had auditioned for the chorus so that I could at least participate in the production.

I heard Carlotta singing scales, and I grimaced. Raoul's statement about her sounding like a dying chicken had never been truer.

I sighed again. This was going to be a long night.

o0o

Everything had gone perfectly so far. Carlotta was now in the middle of singing _The Jewel Song. _She was pouring everything into her song, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

Meg, who was standing next to me, rolled her eyes and muttered, "Show-off." I only smiled at her and then continued to watch the production.

Suddenly, a very strange thing happened. Carlotta, exhilarated with the spotlight and captivation of the audience, opened her mouth to sing one of the high notes… only something very different came from her throat.

_CRO-AK!_

All of us watching her offstage gasped in horror. I turned to Meg in confusion, but she just shrugged her shoulders, obviously as bewildered as everyone else.

Carlotta blushed as a few members of the audience chuckled. She cleared her throat quite loudly and then motioned for the orchestra to begin again. She opened her mouth to sing.

_Cro-ak!_

_CRO-AK!_

The audience burst into laughter. Carlotta, realizing that her career was in ruins at her feet, started wailing and ran from the stage.

Quite a few minutes passed before Mr. Moncharmin and Mr. Firmin managed to make their way from their box seats to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Firmin began. "We…apologize." Several of the actors standing offstage snickered at this, but the rest of us bade them quiet.

Mr. Firmin turned to Mr. Moncharmin helplessly, apparently at a loss for words. Mr. Moncharmin cut in smoothly. "We ask for only ten minutes of your patience, and then, our performance will continue with the role of Marguerite played by Miss Christine Daaė."

I didn't hear the rest of the managers' arrangements, for as soon as my name was announced, Meg was urging me to the dressing room. She had me in my costume in less than five minute's time.

"Breathe, Christine; you'll be wonderful," she told me. Her name was called by another dancer, and she quickly left me alone.

I inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to rein in my nerves. I glanced in the mirror to look at myself in the costume… and noticed a red rose sitting on the vanity counter. My angel had left his signature around its stem: a black satin ribbon. I lifted the ribbon and placed it against my nose. My eyes closed as I smelled its sweet fragrance. "Help me, Angel," I begged softly. Then, peace filled me. I wouldn't be alone on that stage; my angel would be watching over me.

"Two minutes!" a stagehand called. I put my rose back onto the counter and left the dressing room.

I was trembling when the curtains lifted, but from excitement, not fear. I took a deep breath as the music started… and then, I sang.

Never had I sung better. I poured my heart – my very soul – into my song. I sang for my mother and father in heaven. Most of all, I sang for my Angel of Music. He had given me my voice, and now, I gave it back to him. I sang as if only he was watching, as if I could repay everything he had done for me with a song.

As we took our final bow, a radiant smile was on my face. The audience went wild with applause and rose to its feet. Tears came to my eyes. I knew that my father and my angel were both smiling upon me.

Mr. Moncharmin was certainly smiling. He was beaming at me and shouting, "Bravo!" Every so often, I saw him elbow Mr. Firmin as though saying, _I told you so. _Even Mr. Firmin was smiling and laughing, so he didn't seem to mind the smugness of his co-manager very much.

The curtains finally fell. Meg squeezed me in an enormous hug. "You were amazing!" she squealed. "I'm so proud of you!"

I smiled wearily. My performance had drained nearly all of my energy. "Thank you, Meg," I replied. "Let me go change, okay?"

"Of course! We have to celebrate!" she said enthusiastically.

"I'll be back soon," I promised. Then, I retreated to my dressing room.

I had barely turned away from the door when I heard a knock. "I'm hurrying, Meg!" I called laughingly as I opened the door, expecting to see my best-friend waiting impatiently.

Instead, I found myself face-to-face with Raoul.

"Oh… hi, Raoul," I said, surprised.

"Hi," he replied, grinning from ear to ear. "I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job out there tonight."

"Thanks." I wondered why he didn't wait to tell me after I changed… my costume wasn't exactly comfortable. The costume didn't look as flattering as I would have liked, either.

Raoul's grin turned a little sheepish. "Christine…" he began uncertainly. "I was wondering if you wanted to go grab some dinner with me… after you change, that is."

I swallowed hard. Oh, _why _did Raoul have to ruin this most perfect of nights? His eyes were shining with hope. How I _hated _having to deny him such an innocent request, especially since I wanted to accept his invitation!

For one fleeting moment, I almost said "yes." The word was on the tip of my tongue. Yet, I shook my head. "No, Raoul," I answered softly. "I can't."

"You can't… or you won't?" he questioned. He looked so hurt by my words that I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Both," I answered unhappily.

We were both silent for a few moments.

"Christine…" he began.

I looked at the ground as I said, "No, Raoul."

His gasp made me look up at him. He wasn't looking at me, though; he was looking past me. I followed the direction of his gaze… and realized that he was looking at the red rose on the vanity counter.

His voice hardened as he said bitterly, "So, that's how it is. You already belong to someone else."

My eyes widened. "No, Raoul… you don't understand…"

"Who is he, Christine?" I stared back at him, astonished. For the second time, envy was in his voice and face. Determined to have an answer, he continued. "If you were in love with someone else, you could have told me, Christine; I can take a hint." He then turned as though to leave.

I couldn't let him go! I grabbed his hand desperately. He stopped, but he still didn't look at me. Placing one hand on the side of his face, I turned it towards me. To my complete bewilderment, I saw tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Raoul," I sighed, hugging him gently. After a brief second of stiffness, he wrapped both of his arms around me and pulled me close to him.

We stood like that for several moments. Finally, I pulled back enough to look him in the face.

"Raoul…" I began. "I am not… I repeat, NOT… in love with anyone else. Nor do I belong to anyone else."

"Christine…"

I put one finger over his lips, signaling that I wasn't finished.

"But…" I continued. "I'm not allowed to love any man right now. I might be able to explain this one day, but not tonight."

Raoul swallowed. "Can I hope to wait for you, Little Lottie?" he asked softly.

I smiled gently. "You have every hope, Raoul," I answered.

He returned my smile and pulled me close again. "Sorry," he whispered. "I was mean."

"It's okay," I answered.

No sooner than I had said these words, I suddenly felt a presence lurking, watching us. I glanced around uneasily, but I saw no one.

I pulled away from Raoul. "I have to change before Meg starts worrying," I said in answer to his confused expression. He smiled understandingly. "I'll see you later, then," he said. He squeezed my hand once more, and then, he left.

I closed and locked the door behind him. Looking up, I addressed my angel quietly. "I know you were listening, Angel; you might as well tell me what is passing through your mind."

I heard him moan. "Christine… Christine, what have you done?"

"Angel, I have done nothing wrong." My voice sounded calm, rather than defensive.

"You have all but promised yourself to that… that _boy!_" my angel insisted.

I was confused by this, and the anguish in his voice shook me to the core. "Why are you so opposed to Raoul, Angel?" I asked him.

"You do not need any distractions, Christine," was his answer. "You are a child; you do not know what you are doing."

"Angel, look at me; I'm not a child," I said softly. I allowed a few moments to pass before continuing. "My high school years are almost over. Soon, I'll start going to college and eventually, I'll have a career." I paused, momentarily debating whether or not to reveal all of my thoughts. "Angel… I'm going to have to be on my own eventually," I added slowly.

I heard him groan again as though he was in pain. "Christine, do you not love me?"

What kind of question was _that? _

"I sing for you and do everything that you want and demand of me. Isn't that enough?" I meant, _"Isn't that enough to show that I love you," _but he misunderstood my words.

"Christine, you _must _love me!" my Angel of Music cried, his voice full of despair and pleading.

I was shocked. Never before had my angel asked for my love. Respect and obedience, yes… but never love.

That statement took the last of my strength from me. I sank into a nearby chair, massaging my temples.

He was instantly concerned.

"Are you very tired then, Christine?" he asked.

I moaned into my hands. "How can you ask that?" was my sad response. "How can you tell me that I must love you? I gave you my very soul tonight, and now, I am dead for it." Indeed, I did feel dead… dead to the world… dead to emotion… just empty.

"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child," was the Angel of Music's solemn reply. "No king could receive a more wonderful gift. I thank you."

I looked down at my hands. Then, still looking down, I said, "You don't have to worry, Angel. I only sing for you, and that will never change."

"I hope that is true, Christine," was his distressing response. "Now, you need to change so that you can leave. And, Christine… you sang beautifully tonight. The angels wept."

A small smile came to my face, though I was exhausted. "Thank you, Angel."

"Until later, Christine, my dear girl." With that, he was gone.

I put my head in my hands and moaned. What had I managed to become entangled in this time?


	23. The Ultimate Theft

**I know this is a short one, but Erik isn't always one for words. Please review nonetheless.**

**Chapter 22: The Ultimate Theft**

_**Erik**_

My angel was glorious. I listened with awesome rapture as she sang for me, only for me. I watched as – for the first time – my shy girl showed her heart for the world to see. Never before had she been more vulnerable, and yet, as she stood on that stage, power radiated from her.

She was so beautiful.

The little discussion we had two months ago ran through my mind. Somehow, Christine had allowed herself to believe that she was plain. In my mind, it was an outrage. Over the past two years, she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Her beauty was fragile and ethereal. It really put me to shame; she was the angel, not me. Yet, somehow, we were bound together by the music in our souls. Like my opera, _Don Juan Triumphant, _innocence and darkness became one through music. We belonged together.

As tours poured down Christine's pale cheeks as she took her final bow, I knew that during that moment, she felt it, too.

Of course, the boy's stubborn pursuit of my little protégé brought us back to reality. Christine quickly reassured me that I had no reason to worry.

"I sing only for you," she swore, "and that will never change."

Yes, she would only sing for me. Soon, I would be the only one to hear her angelic voice.

It wouldn't be much longer until Persephone joined Hades in his dark realm forever.

o0o

I suppose it was my fault. After all, I was far too busy preparing for Christine's… move. After the final performance of _Faust, _I did not contact her except for leaving a rose for her occasionally. That was my way of telling her that I had not left her, but I underestimated her fear of being alone.

The fact that I had her denied at every college must not have helped, either. But, I did not want her disappearance to be overly-suspicious. Christine had no job or family, and since she was eighteen, it would not be surprising for to just… not be there.

My plans were flawless. Everything was carefully calculated. I forged a note to Mrs. Valerius in Christine's handwriting saying that she was staying with the Angel of Music and to make an excuse to her friends for her. It is remarkable, really; I do believe the elderly lady believed in the Angel of Music more firmly than Christine. Anyway, it ensured that the police would not be contacted. I would continue forging letters with more explanations from Christine to keep Mrs. Valerius from panicking.

Everything was perfect.

Then, as I was checking on her one evening – I still watched over her, she just did not know it – I saw that infuriating boy arrive at her house. I kept waiting for her to send him away, but to my astonishment, she left with him!

_Why, Christine? Why must you spoil my lovely plans?_

No, not spoil… alter. Obviously, I would have to change the date of Christine's arrival. I had intended to wait until June so she could spend some time with the little Giry girl first, but now, I was forced to move the day until right after graduation. Her little relationship needed to be nipped in the bud before it grew too strong.

I entered Christine's bedroom and took her journal. She has always adamantly insisted on calling it a journal instead of a diary because to her, it sounded more professional and authentic. I turned the pages and came across something she had written earlier that day.

_I can't stop replaying his words about me having to love him. Perhaps I'm reading into things, but I can't help but feel he means something deeper than reverence. Sometimes, I think… no, I can't say it; it's too sinful to think that of an angel. And, yet… no other explanation seems to fit into this bizarre puzzle._

_If only he would let me see his face. I'm a wicked child, I know, but God forgive me! I need to see him._

I smiled grimly. Little did Christine know that her wish was about to be granted. She would be mine soon, come what may. Let God be angry; I was damned the day I was born.

Now, the wish to see my face did bother me. For… obvious reasons, she would never be allowed to see my face. Perhaps she would learn to view my mask as my face. I was sure she would try to remove it, but she would not succeed.

She could not be allowed to succeed.

Otherwise, all of my hope would be gone.


	24. What Kind of Love?

**Now, the moment many of you have been waiting for! :D**

**Chapter 23: What Kind of Love?**

_**Christine**_

"I'm certain you'll be accepted this time, Christine," announced Meg confidently. "Anyone with ears should be begging you to accept a free-ride scholarship."

I smiled without humor. "Yet, that isn't the case, is it?" I asked.

She sighed. "Cheer up," was her advice.

Restraining myself from rolling my eyes at this point was quite an achievement. Still, I only did a very poor job of keeping the sarcasm and irritation out of my voice as I retorted, "Oh, yes; why shouldn't I be cheerful? You're right. I've had the wrong attitude about all of this. All of the other schools must have been intimidated by my voice, but this school will see my astonishing potential and beg me to grace them with my enrollment. I should be sun-shiny, right?"

Before she could answer, we reached my mailbox.

"I have a prediction," I announced, sarcasm heavily lacing my tone. "I'll find another rejection letter from yet another college." With that, I thrust my hand into the mailbox. Sure enough, inside was a letter addressed to Miss Christine Daaė from one of the many colleges I had applied to; I still don't know why I bothered to check the mail every day. I read the first two sentences silently, and then I re-folded the letter.

"I wasn't accepted," I said quietly. Tears were forming in my eyes, but I didn't care.

"Don't worry," Meg replied. "You have plenty of time." She sounded unsure of herself, and I didn't blame her. After all, this was definitely not the first letter I had received that denied my application.

"Meg, we graduate in five weeks," I reminded her. "I'm running out of options. I've even applied to several out-of-state universities, but they don't want me, either." Here, I broke down. I was so confused and afraid. After performing as Maruerite in _Faust, _I had expected easy entry into at least _one _of the New York music schools. Yet, I had been denied at each and every one of them.

To make matters worse, the Angel of Music was no longer speaking to me.

Oh, he would leave his customary red rose every now and then, but I hadn't heard his voice in weeks. In fact, the last time I had heard his voice was right after the last performance of _Faust. _He had said that he was proud of me. Before I could feel pleased, however, he told me that there would be no more lessons. I cried and pleaded with him, but all he would say was, "This is not goodbye, Christine. Arrangements for the future must be made, but then, we shall never part again." And, with that cryptic statement, he was gone without any further explanation.

"We'll think of something," Meg now said soothingly. "Come on inside."

I looked up at the sky before going indoors. Normally, the sight of the clouds against the blue of the sky took my breath away, but that day, the colors seemed dull and lifeless, certainly not as beautiful as they usually were to me.

Nothing in life seemed as wonderful without my Angel of Music.

Sighing, I turned and followed Meg into the house.

o0o

Would he _never _answer the phone?

I paced back and forth, playing with the phone cord (Mama Valerius only had corded phones, and they were as old as the hills). I sighed in frustration, which only broke the silence for about three seconds.

Suddenly, I heard a voice on the other line. "Hello?"

I almost dropped the phone. "Raoul! You answered the phone!" I could have slapped myself for saying something so stupid.

"Hi, Christine!" he replied warmly, apparently amused. "What's up?"

I hesitated as sudden shyness struck me. "Well… I was just really bored, and I was wondering if you wanted to… I don't know… catch a movie or something?" I held my breath.

He sounded sympathetic. "Is Mama Valerius at another garden club meeting?"

I grinned. "Yes. She offered to let me go with her, but I passed." I had attended one of those meetings, but – though I liked gardening with Mama Valerius – I knew she liked the time alone with her friends. Besides, I could only stand having my cheeks pinched so much.

"I don't blame you," Raoul responded, laughing. "How about I pick you up and we'll grab some dinner before heading to the movie theater?"

"That sounds great!" I said.

"Is forty-five minutes too soon?" he asked. He only lived about fifteen minutes away.

I calculated for a few moments, and then answered, "That's fine."

"Alright. I'll see you then."

"Okay! Bye!" I hung up the phone. The, I ran to my closet and started rummaging through my clothes. Finally, I selected a pale pink sweater. Though it was late April, a winter chill still hung in the New York air, and anyway, I became cold rather easily.

Once I deemed myself presentable, I had about ten minutes until Raoul would be there. I sat on the edge of my bed and reached over to my nightstand, for on it rested a bright red rose. I fingered the black satin ribbon that was tied around the stem carefully as sat and mused.

_What was I doing?_

I was going to dinner and a movie with Raoul. Was that so wrong?

_Yes._

Well,_ why _was going on a date (for my outing with Raoul _was _a date, no matter how I looked at it) so very wrong?

As I pondered this question, the words that the Angel of Music had spoken after my first triumph as Marguerite ran through my head: "_Christine, you must love me!"_

That bizarre statement had puzzled me ever since he had uttered it weeks ago. He said that I _must _love him. Yet, I didn't know what kind of love he meant. I supposed he meant that he wanted me to love him as I loved my father. I was too in awe of him to love him as a sister loves a brother, and I depended on and owed him far too much to simply give him the same affection I gave to almost everybody. Also, I was too infatuated with him to regard him with the same timid respect that I showed all of my other teachers.

So, my question remained unanswered: _What kind of love did the Angel of Music want from me?_

A fleeting thought fluttered through my brain, but I pushed it away immediately. No, I was extremely foolish to even imagine that the Angel of Music wanted _that _kind of love from me. He would be grieved if he knew what had just gone through my mind. I blushed, feeling like a wicked child. Surely such thoughts were blasphemous!

Besides, how _could _I love him that way? I had never even laid eyes on him. He wasn't even _human! _He was an _angel, _and I was only… well, I was Christine Daaė. I had nothing special to offer, no talents of any kind, save my voice. Even then, my voice was only what he had trained it to become over the past few years.

My reverie was interrupted by the doorbell.

I quickly jumped off the bed. Glancing at the rose one last time, I placed it carefully back onto the nightstand. Then, I grabbed my purse and ran down the staircase. I opened the door and smiled.

Raoul was standing there, smiling back at me. He was so handsome that I blinked a couple of times to make sure he was real. Still, he stood in front of me: alive, human, and _tangible._

"Wow, Christine… you look… beautiful," he said, seemingly stumbling over his words.

I blushed. "Thank you," I managed. Then, I added, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," he answered. He took my hand and led me to his car. As we left, I put the Angel of Music out of my head… and out of my heart.

o0o

I practically waltzed into my bedroom later that night, humming softly. The night had gone so perfectly. After Raoul and I had gone to the movie, we had gone for a walk through the park. Only one piece of the scenery had been wrong: the stars were content to hide up in space. Oh, well… what did the stars mattered on such an otherwise wonderful night? I spun halfway around, but stopped suddenly when my eyes landed on my nightstand. Though a sweet, fragrant rose was there when I left, _a dead rose was now resting in its place!_

I gasped, my heart freezing. Slowly, I approached the nightstand. Next to the dead rose sat a small card. With trembling fingers, I lifted the note and read:

_"I will show you the kind of love I want from you, Christine."_

Trembling violently, I dropped the card into the waste basket. I quickly threw the rose in after it, and then, I started to cry out of pure frustration.

What was the Angel of Music doing? Why was he so angry with me? I knew how he felt about Raoul, but did he really expect me to just not spend time with anyone, despite the fact that he never spoke to me anymore? Did he not know by now that being alone was my greatest fear?

_I'm sorry, Angel, but I cannot be alone… not even for you._

o0o

Graduation came and went. I received four more rejection letters from colleges... all of them out-of-state.

I still hadn't heard from my Angel of Music, either.

By now, I was labeled as Raoul's "girlfriend." I didn't mind. We went everywhere together. Sometimes, we went places with a group of friends, but more often, we went alone.

Spending time with Raoul was the highlight of my life at that point. He took me to the zoo, the park, the movies, and so many other places. Being with him made me feel the way that I had felt when my father was still alive. The two of us could be such children at times, playing on playgrounds, teasing each other… we lived in our own little world.

Only one thing hindered me from being completely happy: every night I came home from a date with Raoul, a dead rose would be waiting for me on my nightstand. They were always accompanied by notes, which I would always throw away after reading. Those notes were far worse than the roses, for the messages would say things like, _"You are not obeying me," _and _"Heed my words; stop seeing Raoul de Chagny." _However, I ignored the notes as best as I could.

One particular night, I received a card that said, _"You have not kept your word, Christine." _I felt a tremor of guilt, but I quickly threw the note away, trying to erase that accusation out of my head.

Soon after, the child-like world I shared with Raoul was destroyed forever.

A week later, I entered my bedroom quietly. I stayed out with Raoul later than I had intended, and I didn't want to wake Mama Valerius. According to my watch, the time was less than an hour until midnight. I hesitatingly turned towards my bed… and froze in absolute astonishment.

_The rose resting on my nightstand was alive!_

I was about to step closer, but a sound at my window stopped me. I looked at my window and smiled as I saw another pebble hit it, causing it to make a soft _tinking! _noise on the glass. Raoul must have forgotten to tell me something before he left. Without pausing, I quickly went downstairs and out the front door, feeling very much like Juliet sneaking out to see her beloved Romeo.

I couldn't see very well. Frowning, I noticed that Raoul wasn't in sight. Oh… the streetlight was out. Well, that explained the darkness…

Suddenly, a hand reached out of the shadows and grabbed my arm. To my horror, a man used his other hand to cover my mouth.

Terrified, I fought for my life, but he still didn't release his hold on me. Once, while struggling with him, my nails found his face and dug into his skin. Yelling in pain and cursing, he threw me to the ground. I tried to crawl away, but a hand on my throat stopped me. The pressure on my neck caused me to see little black spots.

_I'm going to die, _I thought.

Yet, right before the darkness looming in front of me took command of all my senses, I heard a beautiful voice cry, "Stop!"

My Angel of Music had come for me.

With that, the world went black.

o0o

I coughed and moaned as I woke. My throat and back ached. I wanted to look around me, but my eyelids were too heavy to open.

"Christine, you are safe now. I am here."

I smiled. My angel was still with me.

Strangely, I felt as though I was positioned in someone's lap. Something cold was tracing my face softly as I kept my eyes closed and rested. How odd… the coldness felt like fingers. I had never felt the hands of my Angel of Music before…

My eyes flew open in shock. They met a pair of golden, burning eyes. In the dim light, I could barely see anything else except that the eyes were beneath a black mask. I realized that I was in a car.

Horrified, I tried to scramble free, but a hand stopped me. I should have fought and jumped out of the car, whether it was moving or not, but my brain was still too sluggish for my thoughts to be coherent.

"My… my angel?" I whispered, too afraid to say anything else.

"Christine…" the man holding me moaned.

That voice… I _knew _that voice…

"N-no," I stammered, refusing to believe what couldn't possibly be true.

The man seemed to know exactly what I was trying to say. "It is true, Christine," he replied in a voice full of despair. "I am not an angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost. I am just… Erik!"

Erik? Not the Angel of Music… just Erik.

I lowered my head into my hands and started crying, heartbroken and betrayed. My father wasn't watching over me, after all. I had spent the last two years of my life believing a lie. The "Angel of Music" didn't exist… it had only been a beautiful illusion. Now, only this man…this _Erik _was left.

All I had left now was a lie.

He reached for me, but I shrunk back, not trusting him to touch me.

"Who… who are you?" I asked, my voice scarcely audible.

"I am Erik," he answered simply as though that explained everything.

Well, _that _didn't satisfy me at all, but I decided it would have to do for the present. I addressed a more pressing matter.

"Why have you brought me here?" I inquired nervously.

The man gave a heart-rending sigh before lifting his head. I could still see his golden eyes. With a jolt of shock, I realized that they literally _glowed. _As in, they cast off their own light. I shuddered but still searched his eyes with my own, wondering for what reason he hesitated to answer me. Then, I felt my stomach drop unpleasantly. It wasn't possible for me to _not _understand the meaning of the warmth of his glowing eyes. The gaze was too tender, too affectionate to be misinterpreted.

Too loving.

_No, no, NO!_

I opened my mouth quickly to tell him to not say it – to never answer my question – but I was too late.

"Christine," he said, meeting my eyes pleadingly. "I… I love you."

With that statement - that proclamation of his love for me - the world began to fade once again.

_What kind of love does he want from me? _That question had been raging inside of me unanswered for a long time. Well, I now knew the answer… and it cast me into complete terror. The last thing I saw before I was lost to complete oblivion was the glow of his golden eyes coming closer.


	25. Foolish

**Chapter 24: Foolish**

_**Erik**_

I am a fool.

I could not believe I was so foolish as to not take her myself. Maybe he did not expect a fight out of Christine. It really does not matter. He has no excuse.

Few things anger me more than having my perfect plans changed without me being the one to change them.

Everything was set. The streetlamps would be turned off at midnight, thanks to my expert hacking (another little skill of mine). The man I hired would lure her outside and take her. My instructions were simple enough for any idiot to follow. Still, I sat in my car, watching. I did not intend to take any chances when Christine was involved.

When I saw him throwing pebbles at Christine's window, I rolled my eyes. However, she soon came outside. Perhaps she thought her young man was waiting for her.

Now, the most important part of the job was to be quick and silent. But, Christine fought, digging her nails into the man's face. He yelled and cursed at her. Angrily, I left my car. While seeing Christine fight usually would have amused me, the clock was ticking, and I was afraid someone would hear them. Then, I saw him throw her to the ground, and my blood boiled.

I stressed over and over again that he was not to harm her. So, when he attacked her, I swore to myself that I would kill him if was the last thing I did on this earth.

"Stop!" I commanded, enraged to see his hands on Christine's soft white throat, the most beautiful instrument to grace human ears. If her voice was damaged, I would not stop with killing him; no, he would be tortured first.

Obviously terrified, the man instantly let go of her. I knelt beside her unconscious form, desperately searching for a sign of life… and to my great relief, I felt a pulse.

"She fought," the man frantically explained. "I didn't know…"

I took a deep breath. I would not be able to kill him myself, now. Christine could not be left alone. I inwardly cursed. "It does not matter," I told him harshly.

"Do you want me to –"

"No, thank you. I will take it from here. Go to the arranged meeting place for my assistant to pay you." He did not hesitate to leave. Once he was gone, I called my assistant.

"Yes?"

"A situation has occurred. Kill him and dispose of the body. Keep the money as payment."

"Yes, sir." No surprise was in his voice. This kind of situation had happened before, and it would happen again. My assistant knew better than to question me and my motives. He did exactly as I asked without hesitation. He was really quite valuable to me.

After I ended the call, I turned to Christine. _Finally. _No more boundaries stood between us. She was at last within my reach. I was free to woo her, to speak to her face to… well, mask.

I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my car. The driver saw us and asked, "Is she alright?"

"She will be once she regains consciousness," I replied. "Now, remember that I do not want you talking to her. She is already going to be confused." He only nodded and raised a screen between the front and the back of the car by pressing a button. I positioned her head in my lap and simply gazed at her. She is so beautiful, my Christine. I was stroking her porcelain face with my fingers when she suddenly coughed and moaned. I could already see bruises forming on her white throat. Gently, so as not to frighten her, I said, "Christine, you are safe now. I am here." She smiled sweetly; she recognized my voice. However, only moments later, her eyes opened and met mine. She tried to scoot away from me, but I took her hand. Silence followed before she whispered, "My… my angel?"

My heart broke. _She will never see me as her angel_, I realized bitterly. Her Angel of Music was a figment of her imagination, a fairy-tale. Now, the princess had been kidnapped by the horrible monster. I was only Erik; I meant nothing to her. "Christine," I moaned painfully.

Her eyes widened as she slowly started to understand my treachery. "N-no," she stuttered stubbornly. I shook my head, knowing I had to end her pretty daydreams. "It is true, Christine." _If only you knew how much I wish there was another way…_ "I am not an angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost. I am just… Erik!"

She said nothing, only stared at me in pure horror. A tear trickled down her cheek, and I reached over to brush it away. She cowered back, though, which hurt more than I can ever say. "Who… who are you?" she asked.

"I am Erik." I could not bring myself to tell her any more, not at that moment. I hated myself for not having more to offer her.

"Why have you brought me here?" Her blue eyes searched my golden ones, and I immediately felt the warm rush of emotions that she always made me feel. I wanted nothing more than to reach over and claim her pink mouth with my own, to hold her close to me, but I knew that such gestures would be rejected. Anyway, I could not bear to make myself even more vulnerable to her.

"Christine, I… I love you."

I suppose everything was too much for her – or perhaps she was exhausted from fighting – for her eyes began to shut. I leaned towards her and gently sat her upright, placing her head against the headrest.

She was not awake when we reached my home – _our _home – so I carried her to her room. It was a beautiful room, completely suited to her tastes. I placed her on the bed, covered her with the comforter so she would not become cold, and left.

_I am such a fool._


	26. Dies Irae

**Chapter 25: Dies Irae**

_**Christine**_

When I woke, I was a bit disoriented. _Where am I?_ I didn't recognize this room, lovely though it was. I was lying on a large bed covered with a thick comforter. Pillows rested against the headboard. I picked one up and hugged it to my chest; then, I continued to look around the room. A dresser was by one of the walls. A nightstand – complete with a lamp, jewelry box, and clock – sat next to the bed. Sitting right next to the jewelry box was a red rose with a black satin ribbon tied around its stem. A note was next to the rose.

My terror from before returned with full force. I shrieked, but then I put my face into the pillow I still held. I didn't want _him _to know I was awake and come into the room.

I read the note quickly, which said the following:

_Christine,_

_Please be refreshed by 2:00 p.m. You will find a bathroom to your right, and clothes are in the closet to your left. If something is not to your liking, I will see that it is changed. I only wish for your happiness. You will find no friend more respectful than I. _

_Your humble servant._

I looked at the clock. The time was already past 1:30 in the afternoon. Though I knew that he – Erik, my mind supplied – would probably come looking for me when I failed to come out of my room, I decided that I didn't care. I simply pulled the comforter back over my body and curled up in the bed, wishing I was dead.

Sure enough, a knock on the door penetrated the comforting silence all too soon.

"Christine?" I could hear the worry in his voice. I shuddered.

"Go away!" I covered my head with the comforter.

I heard the door open and winced. Soft footsteps came closer and closer until they stopped right next to me. I held my breath.

Suddenly, I felt the comforter being pulled back, leaving me exposed to his gaze. I held my knees to my chest and watched him, my eyes wide with fear.

He sighed. "I will give you two more hours. Take a bath, change your clothes, and be ready by the time I come back." Though his voice was low, the tone of expected obedience was unmistakable.

I didn't answer him. I didn't say anything. I just continued to hold still until he was gone. However, I was up as soon as the door shut behind him. I wanted to defy him, but I was simply too afraid. _What a coward you are! _I scolded myself even as I hurried to follow his instructions.

I managed to locate undergarments in one of the dresser drawers. Then, I ventured over to the rather large closet. I frowned at most of the clothes; while each and every item was quite lovely, I was used to more… well, disposable clothes. You know, like sweat pants and t-shirts… at least, those were the kind of clothes that I had always preferred to wear at home.

Of course, this wasn't home. This was _anything _but home. Obviously, my sweatshirts and old jeans weren't good enough for him. I learned very early in our… acquaintance that he demanded perfection. The cynical side of me wished for a plain, orange jumpsuit instead of these expensive prison clothes.

After rummaging through the clothing choices for a good fifteen minutes (really, it took that long to examine them; there were so many different choices it was bewildering!), I finally selected a pair of jeans and a cream sweater. If he expected me to wear one of the many dresses and high heels, he was crazy. Not that he wasn't crazy anyway.

A dilemma was presented when I reached the bathroom. I was afraid to take off my clothes, yet I absolutely _had _to shower. I can't _stand_ being dirty and having greasy hair. I remembered what Erik had said when I was in the theater bathroom: _"Please, do not think that of me, Christine." _I shuddered, but my need to clean myself overcame my uneasiness. So, I quickly locked the bathroom door, turned on the water and let it become warm, and then, I took the fastest shower of my entire life. Though I figured that a lock wouldn't do a large amount of good if he happened to decide to come in while I was still showering, I would at least have enough warning to grab my towel and cover myself.

Once I had bathed and dressed, I braided my hair. This action calmed me somewhat. Then, I continued exploring the bedroom. A desk was next to one of the walls. Hurriedly, I dug through its contents until I found both a pen and paper. I took these to my bed, placing a pillow on my lap to use as a desk. Thus situated, I began to write furiously.

Sadly, I was interrupted as Erik knocked on the door. Panicking, I shoved the paper and pen inside one of the pillowcases just before the door opened. I couldn't suppress a shudder as those golden eyes met mine.

"Please, let me go," I whispered. I wanted to go home so badly that I would have willingly gone down on my knees and begged him.

He shook his head. "I cannot, Christine; I have waited for you for far too long," he answered seriously.

His words terrified me. He had _waited _for me? Did that mean he had been planning this ever since I was only sixteen?

A sigh came from his chest. "Do not be afraid, Christine; you are not in any danger," he said gently.

My amazement mingled with searing anger. Did he expect me to believe him now, after he had lied to me for two years? I certainly didn't _feel _like I wasn't in danger. Of course, he wouldn't hurt me because he _loved _me.

I glared hatefully into his black mask. "Take off your mask. No honest man hides his face."

The coolness in his voice matched mine. "You shall never see Erik's face," he replied grimly.

I rushed at him then. I tried to snatch his mask off his face in order to see who – _what_ – it concealed. He took my wrists gently and held me at bay. I screamed accusations at him: "Let me go, you sick, disgusting pedophile! Why don't you just rape or kill me or whatever already? Just do whatever you're going to do to me; stop playing these sick games with me!" Yet, he endured my fighting and raving silently, still being gentle with his hands.

Finally, I stood before him, out of breath and furious. His hands still held my wrists. Those golden eyes met mine once again, and I blushed under their intensity. Slowly, he repeated what he had said earlier: Do not be afraid, Christine; you are not in any danger… so long as you do not touch my mask," he added solemnly.

I drew back from him, frustrated. I was certain he was a wanted, dangerous criminal. Otherwise, why would he be so desperate to hide his face?

He watched me, making me rather uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he said, "I was wondering… would you like to see the rest of my home?"

Despite the fact that I didn't want to spend any voluntary time with him, I did want to see the rest of my prison, so I nodded. He held out his fingertips, and I automatically took them. However, I snatched my hand back and gasped, for what I had touched was both bony and cold. "Forgive me," he muttered, sounding miserable. I didn't care; he deserved a dose of his own medicine. Then, he gestured for me to follow him as he turned. I walked behind him warily.

He led me through many hallways and showed me many rooms, pointing out this and that. He didn't try to engage me in conversation, and I was grateful. I didn't have anything to say to him.

Presently, he led me to a dark room. I looked at him, confused.

"This is my bedroom," he explained. "You may go in and look around, if you wish… it is rather curious."

Emboldened, I walked into the room. The walls were black. A canopy of the same color hung in the middle of the room. The lighting was dim, creating an eerie atmosphere. Across the top of the wall were musical notes. I looked closer and gasped. The notes were the line "Dies Irae" repeated over and over again.

Turning my head back towards the center of the room, I wondered what the black canopy concealed. Cautiously, I pulled the curtain aside and peeked in. My eyes widened and I started trembling.

_There, in the very center of the room, was a coffin!_

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Too shocked to push it away, I faced Erik. "There… why do you have a –"

He smoothly interrupted me. "That is where I sleep," he explained. "One has to grow accustomed to everything in life, even eternity."

I was horrified. "So… so you _sleep _in the… in the…" I glanced at the coffin and shuddered, unable to finish. The sight of the black, grim box upset me so much that I turned my head away.

"Coffin?" he supplied. I nodded, and so did he in response.

"Can we go somewhere else, please?" I asked, my nerve broken. "Actually… I would like to go back to my room, if you don't mind."

I suppose he could tell that his coffin had shaken me, for he simply replied, "As you wish."

While I followed him, I couldn't take my mind of his room. "Dies Irae…" and a _coffin! _My captor seemed very grim to me. How could anyone with such a strong aura of darkness bear the kind of love that Erik swore he had for me?

We arrived at my bedroom. Erik finally spoke as he opened the door. "Another reason I brought you here is to sing. Unfortunately, your… injuries will keep you from singing for a few days." Here, he reached out a hand towards my neck. I suppose my kidnapper's hands had bruised me, for his eyes tightened visibly. "Christine," he said softly, gently. "He was never supposed to hurt you. I am so sorry."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

He cleared his throat and added, "Also… I am going to lock your door at nights."

Alarmed, I whispered, "Why?"

To that, he answered seriously, "You know why, Christine."

"You know, you could just let me go," I muttered. "That way, I wouldn't have to escape."

The sorrow in his eyes threw me for a second. "Christine, I… I cannot let you go. You have to stay with me always."

"You can't let me go?" I asked quietly. "Not even if you love me?"

Softly, he said, "If I did not love you, I never would have brought you here."

I glared at him when I heard that. No… if he didn't love me, I would be free. I would be with Raoul right now. "Well, I never asked for your love," I said coldly. "I have never wanted it, and I'd much rather you didn't love me at all."

He turned his face away from me and said, "Perhaps you should go in your room now."

Without saying another word, I entered my room and slammed the door in his face. I heard him lock the door behind me.

_"I cannot let you go," _his voice whispered in my head. _"You have to stay with me always."_

"Dies Irae." The coffin. _"Stay with me always." _I couldn't handle all of it. With a cry, I ran to my bed and broke down sobbing.

The echoing sobs outside my door told me that I didn't cry alone.


	27. If I Never Knew You

**Chapter 26: If I Never Knew You**

_"Four days have passed," _I wrote. _"Four days… and I'm still a prisoner._

_"He claims he loves me. If he loved me, he would let me go. I don't want to be here. I'm so afraid."_

I had scarcely hidden my journal amongst my unmentionables – this was really the only hiding place available until I could think of a better one – when I heard a knock at the door.

"Christine?" Are you decent?" I heard Erik ask.

I backed up until the bed was between me and the door. "Yes."

He opened the door. If he noticed the way I purposefully distanced myself from him, he didn't say anything about it.

"Christine, I was wondering if your throat feels well enough to sing."

I felt my eyebrows rise with surprise. I was being offered a _choice? _That was certainly a first.

Tempted as I was to throw his offer in his face, I had to admit that the prospect of singing was appealing. Besides, I was bored, as somehow no books were in my room.

"Yes," I replied.

I followed him to his music room, which was located downstairs. I hadn't been shown this room during my tour. The lower floor was dimly lit and ice cold. I shivered. Everything about him – both his demeanor and his house – were dark and cold. _How could I have allowed this to happen? _I asked myself for the hundredth time.

A grand piano arrested my attention when I first entered the room. Erik immediately went and sat gracefully down at the piano bench. "Shall we begin with scales, Christine?" he asked in a business-like tone, running his hands expertly up and down the keys.

I stood beside him. For some reason, I felt… nervous. I told myself that I had sung for Erik hundreds of times and that I was being silly, but being able to actually _see _him while I was singing was entirely different.

However, as I sang, I couldn't help but begin to feel comfortable. Desire the different setting and circumstances of this lesson, _this _– singing for him – was familiar territory for me. Soon, I was enjoying the music.

Oh, and when he sang with me! I found myself closing my eyes so nothing would distract me from the sound of his voice, and I was lulled into a dream-like trance. His very soul poured from his voice with every note. All emotions known to mankind – jealousy, despair, hope, and love – burst out around us as he sang.

However, the spell broke once the last note faded. My eyes shot open, and I blushed. For a few minutes, I had felt like I was singing with the Angel of Music once more… but when I opened my eyes, there was only Erik ever watching me. I was very angry with myself. I didn't _want _to feel warmly towards him, but his voice seemed to bend my will when in song.

I had to leave before he completely hypnotized me. "Can I go?" I asked abruptly.

Once I was back in my room, I grabbed my journal and sat on my bed. I wrote for a very long time, but I couldn't find any answers in the hopeless labyrinth of my life.

o0o

Although Erik is not the Angel of Music, he knows more about music than anyone I have ever met.

One day while I was looking through a stack of sheet music in the music room (the room was extremely messy and disorganized, though Erik could always find the piece of music he wanted), I found an interesting-looking black leather book. I opened it and began to turn the pages. Inside was a complicated musical score that looked hand-written.

"What is this?" I asked, truly curious.

When Erik saw what I was talking about, he cried, "What are you doing?" He rushed over and grabbed the book. Then, he backed away from me, holding it to his chest in a possessive manner.

"I… I'm sorry," I said.

He must have sensed my confusion, for he took a deep breath and said, "I did not mean to startle you. This…" here he indicated the leather book in his hands… " is my opera. At least, it will be an opera once it has been finished."

"Your _opera?_" I asked, suddenly feeling rather insignificant. "How long have you been working on it?" The leather book that contained the opera was huge. I didn't understand how he managed to hold it so easily; I certainly would have dropped it due to its weight.

"I have been writing it for over twenty years now," Erik replied. "I will write for days at a time, and then, I will put it away, sometimes for years."

"What is it called?" I was still trying to wrap my mind around writing _anything _for days at a time, much less an opera!

"_Don Juan Triumphant,_"Erik answered in a solemn tone of reverence.

Thinking to please him, I asked, "Will you play me something out of your _Don Juan Triumphant?_"

"You must never ask me that," he said gloomily. "I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep. Yet, my _Don Juan _burns, Christine, but he is not struck by fire from heaven. His music is not meant for human ears, especially not an innocent's like yours."

"I don't understand," I responded quietly.

"I know," he sighed. "How can I say it in a way that you will understand?" He pursed his lips and pondered for a moment. After several moments, he continued in order to explain the concept to me. "You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all of those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all of your pretty coloring from hearing such music."

I thought for a moment, letting the comment about my "pretty coloring" slide. "If the music is so terrible, then why do you write it?" I wanted to know.

"It is the music in my soul," he answered, sadness in his voice. Then, he looked at me. "But, Christine… you have the power to change to music. You alone can write the ending of my _Don Juan."_

I didn't _feel _powerful. His intensity frightened me. Darkness seemed to swirl around him, and I shied away.

"I can't do that," I whispered. I hung my head, trying to fight a sudden rush of guilt that threatened to penetrate my resolve to hate him.

Erik sighed. "Not yet, but perhaps someday."

I doubted it. He scared me too much.

o0o

Over a week passed. I bit my lip, trying not to scream out of rage and grief. Erik _still _refused to let me go. I begged, demanded, and pleaded, but he remained unyielding.

One night, we were both in the library. I sullenly sat, reading one of my favorite books, _Jane Eyre. _Erik wouldn't allow me to take any of the books to my room, so I was forced to sit in his library with him.

I giggled softly when I read about snobby Blanche Ingram being put in her place by the gypsy. As I continued reading, I felt Erik watching me. I tried to keep my mind on my book, but the knowledge of having his eyes on me made me too uncomfortable. "Do you _mind?_" I snapped at him. I glared at him as he gave a small smile. Oh, so now I was amusing, too? Why couldn't he ever take me seriously? He held no respect for me at all! Infuriated, I couldn't hold back my temper. "What _is _it with you? If I'm going to be forced to stay here as your singing pet, I'd at least appreciate some privacy!"

His eyes, which had been glowing softly in amusement during the first part of my outburst, were now flashing angrily. Suddenly, he leapt out of his chair and was towering over me in an instant. For the first time, I noticed how incredibly tall he is, and how incredibly thin. I shrunk back, cowering.

"How _dare _you!" he hissed at me. "You are more than just a _pet _to me, Christine. I - "

"I know what you claim," I cut him off bitterly. "I think you're pathetic and that your 'love' for me is a lie."

Here, he leaned forward until both of his hands were resting on the arms of my chair. "You think I am lying to you?" The absolute fury in his voice shook me, and I leaned away from him. "If you were merely a pet, my dear girl, then believe me, you would not be sleeping in your own room." His words struck terror into my heart, but he thundered on, his eyes glowing like fire. "Yet, I have given you _everything… _you were lost until I found you, Christine! Without me, you _never _would have survived this world. It would have slowly drowned you! What would you have done when your mother died? Answer me, Christine!" Here, I cried out and covered my face with my hands, but he wrenched them back down. I gave another cry; his grip was tight and cruel, and it hurt my wrists. Dropping my wrists, he took hold of my shoulders and shook me hard. "You stupid, selfish girl!" he shouted. "How _dare _you doubt my love for you! You are _nothing _without me! What would have happened to you? Tell me!"

I glared at him and pushed his hands at me. "I hate you! I wish I had never listened to you!" I spat at him venomously.

His eyes narrowed. "Go to your room," he whispered. His hands were trembling violently.

I didn't need any further urging. Eager to be away from him, I left the library. However, before I reached my room, I realized something.

_Without Erik escorting me to my bedroom, I could escape!_

Quietly, I went to the door that led to the outside. Holding my breath, I slowly turned the doorknob… and then, I was outside.

The sun was low in the sky, casting shadows everywhere. I started running, thankful that the shoes I was wearing wouldn't hinder me. The evening air was strangely chilly, despite it being late May. To make matters worse, fog was rolling in. Still, I ran.

After about fifteen straight minutes of running, I stopped to catch my breath. Then, I noticed that the forest around me looked the same as it had five minutes ago. I couldn't tell where I had come from or where I should go.

Suddenly, I could sense his presence. The hair on the back of my neck tingled. Shivering, I started moving again, only walking this time.

Then, I heard his voice.

_"Christine…"_

I felt fear creeping in, but I had to keep going. Breathing as quietly as possible, I moved onward through the trees.

_"Christine…"_

I stopped, utterly confused. His voice was coming from an entirely different direction this time. I stumbled a few uncertain steps forward.

_"Christine… Erik is everywhere…"_

He was in front of me now! Sobbing, I turned and ran… right into Erik's waiting arms.

I fought him, but he quickly had his hands around both of my wrists. "Let me go! _Please!_" I shrieked. I tried to kick him but twisted my ankle in the effort. With a cry of pain, I stumbled against him.

I guess he was trying to prevent me from injuring myself further – I don't know – but he placed a bottle to my lips and poured its contents into my mouth. My automatic reaction was to spit the vile-tasting liquid out, but he quickly put his hand over my mouth. I choked, and he massaged my throat with his fingers.

"There now, be a good girl and swallow," he coaxed.

I decided to suffocate to death rather than swallow, but my body had a different idea. The liquid finally went down my throat, and I coughed horribly

As I struggled again, everything became fuzzy. I screamed in frustration. He had drugged me! My knees became shaky, and Erik swept me off my feet and into his arms. I became confused, and I couldn't recall exactly why I should hate him as his lips touched my forehead. I certainly wasn't capable of standing on my own; why shouldn't I be grateful for his help?

"I'm cold," I whispered. My mind was going fast. My arms somehow were around his neck, but I didn't mind in the slightest; it only made me feel safer as I buried my head into his shoulder.

"You will be warm soon, darling," said his beautiful angel's voice.

I smiled, not bothering to open my eyes this time. "Thank you, Angel," I muttered. Finally, I drifted off, safe in my angel's arms.


	28. The Soul Goes Wanting

**Chapter 27: The Soul Goes Wanting**

_**Erik**_

At first glance, Christine does not appear to be anything special. Yes, she is beautiful, but in a natural way that most people do not appreciate. You would hardly notice her, thinking she is merely a quiet girl, albeit a nice one. I am not saying this to discredit her, for I know more than anyone that appearances are deceiving. But, if you asked her, I think she would agree with me.

You see, Christine's true beauty lies within. To draw her out of her self-built shell takes a great deal of time and patience, but it is worth all of it. You would never guess by looking at her that she can be mischievous and out-spoken. The first time I realized this was before a lesson when she pretended to have lost her voice. She is a terrible little actress, except when she is in the midst of pulling some kind of prank. I was terribly upset and worriedly asked her about her symptoms. Then, she started to laugh, and I was even more disturbed… until she opened her mouth and heartily sang a perfect scale.

My first reaction was to be angry. "Christine, you should never lie to me, especially not about your voice," I sternly rebuked her.

She grinned impishly. "Oh, but your voice… you sounded so funny!" With that, she began laughing, her cheeks turning red with merriment. My anger began to ebb; she was really too adorable for me to stay mad. _She is playing with me. _The thought made me smile, and soon, I was laughing with her. For the first time in my life, I laughed in a completely surprised and spontaneous fashion. No one had ever played with me before, not even my own mother. I was unused to someone teasing me, and to see that Christine was comfortable enough to risk making me cross… it was an amazing feeling.

When we finally calmed down, I told her, "The next time you decide to play a joke on your poor angel, please do not make him think something has happened to the most beautiful instrument to grace human or heavenly ears."

Her face turned red again, only with bashfulness this time. "Okay. I really am sorry if I scared you," she added earnestly. Her face earned another bout of laughter, which of course made her start laughing again, too. From that day forward, we found ways to play pranks on each other. The time I made her think she was going to learn an Aria in Italian in fifteen minutes… oh, her reaction was priceless! Laughter is truly good medicine. The more time I spent with Christine, the more I felt like an actual human being instead of a corpse.

Have you ever heard the phrase "The eye does not go wanting?" While that adage certainly fits my precious darling, I think a more appropriate one for her is "the soul does not go wanting." Many young women today are frivolous creatures who only care about themselves; they never notice what is happening around them. Christine, on the other hand, is like a breath of fresh air in a decaying environment. She has the gift of making someone feel important and special. When she looks at you (or in my case, in your direction), you suddenly feel as though every difficulty in your life has a solution simply because she has faith in you. It is a beautiful feeling.

I should have known better than anyone that she is not predictable, but nothing could have compared me for her rage when she woke the day after her kidnapping.

She began by defying me. I left a note asking her to be prepared to meet me at 2 p.m., and when I went to her room, she was still in the same state that I had left her! I curbed my temper and gave her two more hours as well as a warning not to cross me again.

The expected begging was next. Though I knew I could not give her what she wanted, it caused me pain to deny her anything. I was not even remotely swayed, but the hurt look on her face still affected me.

Then, she did what I had _not _anticipated: she flew at me in anger. She attacked me and tried to rip my mask off my face as she screamed hateful words at me. Never before had she displayed such a temper! It seems even my little songbird will fight if provoked. I cannot deny that it is amusing to watch her. I might have laughed had she not touched my mask. I soon had the situation under control, and I warned her not to touch my mask again.

It was four days before I asked her to sing with me. Not only did I want to give her throat sufficient time to heal, but also, I wanted her to calm down a bit. She immediately said yes, just as I knew she would. My girl loves music too much to resist its call, which I decided to use to draw her out of her room. So, we would sing together, and for a few precious minutes as Christine closed her eyes, everything would be right between us again. Yet, it never lasted, for the moment the song ended and Christine opened her eyes, she would be wary of me again.

Little did she know how agonizing it was to sing with her – to have her again – and to lose her once the song was over. My soul was hungry for her voice, her laughter, her affection… and all she would give me in return was fear. Fear, always fear… everyone fears Erik. Sometimes, even _I _fear Erik! He is not very predictable, after all, quite unlike Christine.

However, in my wildest dreams, I never foresaw her little escape attempt. True, I knew she would not rest until she tried to escape, but I thought it would happen later, when I was in control of the situation. But, no… my blasted temper almost made me lose her.

After our fight, I stayed in the library, red blurring my vision. I could still hear her voice in my ears. _"I hate you! I wish I had never listened to you!" _I gave her _everything, _and what did she do? She threw it all back in my face.

I do not know how much time passed before I decided to go apologize. While she deserved to be rebuked, it had been very…wrong of me to purposely frighten her; sometimes, Erik forgets himself. I went to her bedroom door and knocked. When she did not answer me, I impatiently opened the door.

_The room was empty!_

My impulse was to panic. I knew she was outside by that point. How much time had passed? Slowly, logic began to enter my worried brain. _She cannot have gone far. _Quickly, I slipped past the door and began to pursue her. Fog was filling the evening air. While it would not hinder me in the least, it would certainly slow Christine. I was careful to move fast but silently, like a shadow crossing through the forest.

It was not long before I saw her. She was suddenly stopped and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. As she stood panting, I started creeping towards her. Then, she froze, alert as a deer when the hunter approaches. She knew I was watching. As she started walking, I gently called to her, making my voice come from her left. (Have I mentioned that I am a rather gifted ventriloquist?)

_"Christine…"_

She kept walking, trying to ignore me, so I called to her again, taking care to make my voice come from a different direction entirely. Though I must have appeared calm, my heartbeat must have been racing as fast as her own. _"Christine…"_

She stopped walking, anxiety and bewilderment on her pretty face. Making my voice come from in front of her, I hissed, _"Christine… Erik is everywhere…" _She turned towards me, crying, and in her confusion, she ran right into my arms. How very considerate of her!

She tried to break free, and somehow, she managed to twist her ankle. She fell against me as she cried with pain.

Now, I never would recommend drugging someone except for… artistic reasons, but I was concerned. She obviously was not thinking clearly, and I did not want her to harm herself further. So, I forced her to drink a drug that would make her fall asleep. As she became drowsy, she put her arms around my neck and smiled. I could not resist kissing her forehead. Christine really is a good girl; she can just become very perplexed sometimes. Once she was asleep, I carried her back to the house and to her room. I placed her on her bed and simply watched her for a few minutes. She would never know this, but if she had only turned slightly west and run for another two minutes, she would have found the road. She had almost slipped from my grasp… I shuddered and stroked her cheek gently.

_You are safe, angel. Erik will make sure you never have to face the world again._

o0o

As a punishment for trying to escape, I locked Christine in her room for a day. At the end of the day, I went to her and made her promise never to try escaping again. She promised, and I believed her; I have never known Christine to break her word. We actually had a very nice conversation, and I left her room feeling hopeful.

Unfortunately, Christine decided to punish _me _by doing everything within her power to make my temper explode. She taunted me, she disobeyed me, she accidentally "broke" a rather priceless vase, she intentionally sang off-key…

Then, I found the letter. My heart stopped beating as I read it. She had written to her young man, begging him to save her from a "terrible monster" who "abused and toyed with her." Trembling with rage, I rushed to her room, where she only defied me further.

"You're jealous of him because I love him and would give absolutely anything to be with him right now instead of you!" she spat.

My world collapsed. _She loves him… _I wanted to shake her, to scream at her, to lock her in her room forever, but deep down, I knew that would never make her love me. Her heart already belonged to another… to a handsome young boy named Raoul de Chagny…

I left her quickly. I needed to be with _Don Juan _for a long time so I could forget myself.

o0o

After I found the letter, Christine became more quiet and docile. She was apparently tired of her childish games, and I was only too glad. When I suggested we sing the duet from _Othello, _I noticed her looking at me strangely, but I did not give it any further thought. I needed to hear her voice, for her to leave all of the hatred and pain behind through music. Music is what first drew us together, and through music, our souls united. My soul desperately needed to be touched by hers, so we sang. As the music took us to another time and place, I could see it having its effect on her, for she leaned towards me. I closed my eyes, reveling in her angelic voice… and suddenly, I felt air on my face. I opened my eyes, saw her shock, her terror, her disgust, and I knew.

_She had taken off my mask!_


	29. The Need to Hate

**Chapter 28: The Need to Hate**

_**Christine**_

I had an awful headache the next morning once I had come out of my sleep. I groaned and rubbed my temples, squinting in the daylight coming through the single window in the room. All of a sudden, I remembered what had taken place the night before… and how I had willingly allowed Erik to hold me in his arms after he had forced me to swallow the drug. Disgust rose within me as I recalled the way I had put my arms around his neck gratefully as he lifted me off the ground. I was angry at my head for betraying the rest of my body and stopped massaging the offending body part; it deserved to hurt.

I glanced at the clock that was sitting on the nightstand. The time was past 10:00 a.m. I frowned. Erik usually would have been pounding on my door by that point if I wasn't already downstairs. Ever since I had begun singing again, I spent long lengths of time in the music room singing for him at his demand.

Leaving my bed, I walked over to the door and turned the knob… but the door didn't open; it was locked. I stared at it, stupefied. I tried to turn it again with the same result.

"Hey!" I shouted. "You forgot to unlock the door!" I slapped the door with my palm. _"Hey!"_

No one answered my shouts.

Two hours later, I had realized that I wasn't going to be let out of the room. I was sitting on my bed with a pen, paper, and a pillow (I used it as a desk) when suddenly, the door opened. I raised my eyes quickly. To my surprise, a short, middle-aged woman entered carrying a tray of food.

"Please, help me!" I begged breathlessly.

She responded by placing the tray on the nightstand and turning to leave. Becoming frantic, I followed her. "Please, help me escape from here! I want to go home! I won't tell anyone about you, I promise!"

The woman was deaf to my pleas and blind to my tears. She didn't even say anything to me. When I grabbed her sleeve, she only shook me off and shut the door in my face.

Screaming hysterically, I began pounding on the door. "Let me out of here! _Please!_" My fists struck the unyielding door until the skin on my hands was scraped and bleeding. Sobbing pitifully, I sank to the floor, exhausted.

As my mind cleared, the thought hit me that this - being locked in my room - was a punishment for trying to run away. Also, Erik was probably still angry about our argument. Oh, dear… How long was he planning to keep me locked away? What if he never let me out? The thought was an agonizing one, and I was both furious and fearful of him at the same time.

Around six that night, the same woman who brought my lunch to me carried a dinner tray in, disregarding my entreaties for her to help me escape. Knowing that she refused to help me - though I'd never done anything to her - was crushing. I settled into my bed, thinking I would spend the rest of the night alone.

However, less than an hour after the woman left, the door opened again. To my surprise, Erik hesitantly entered. He softly walked over to me and sat at the end of my bed.

"Do you know why you were kept in your room today?" he gently asked.

I sighed. "Because I tried to run away?"

He nodded. "Promise me you will not try that again."

"I won't," I muttered. Strangely enough, I meant it. You see, I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn't tried to escape. Now that my attempt had been made (and spoiled), I knew that fleeing my prison was impossible. The only good part about my decision was that it gave me a slight peace. Yes, I hated giving up, but what else could I do? No matter the cause, a temporary surrender was necessary. Besides, I was still hopeful of being free one day. I could wait this out; surely, he would eventually have to realize that he didn't truly love me, and then, he would let me go. It's not as if I'd seen his face. I had no description to give the police, only a first name, and I knew that wouldn't help.

A few moments passed. "Christine," Erik began. "You do not have to be afraid of me."

"But, I _am _afraid," I whispered back.

He watched me sadly. "Do you hate me, then?" he asked quietly.

I raised my head.. His eyes were looking straight into mine, pleading me to contradict his assumption. They were like golden flames, and despite the obvious despair, I could see love, too.

In that moment, I couldn't hate him. "You give me little cause to love you," I answered instead, dodging the question.

I'm sure he noticed that I didn't give him a direct answer, but he didn't say anything. He merely reached for my hand. I didn't pull away, but I winced slightly as he squeezed it. My reaction didn't go unnoticed by his sharp eyes, for he looked at my hand and inhaled sharply.

"What happened?" he asked in a tone of horror.

I sighed. "I became afraid when I found the door locked," was my simple reply.

He groaned. "Oh, child…"

Somehow, I found myself trying to soothe him. "I'm fine," I assured him. "They don't hurt very badly."

_What are you saying? _my mind screamed at me. _Why are you comforting him? If he hadn't locked you in this room, your hands would be perfectly fine. You don't owe him anything._

Yet, I couldn't deny that his cold fingers felt good on my poor, aching hands. After going for such a long time without physical contact or a real conversation, interacting with someone - even if that someone was Erik - was a relief to me. So, I didn't protest as he bandaged my hands for me. In fact, I smiled at him… the first real smile that had been on my face since before I had been taken.

"Thank you," I murmured when he was done.

He briefly touched my cheek with his hand. I didn't pull away; surprisingly, I was just grateful for human contact.

"Goodnight, my dear," he said softly.

"Goodnight, Erik." I could tell that he realized I had just spoken his name out-loud for the first time. He gave me the faintest trace of a smile, and then, he left.

I sat back in my bed, thinking over what had just taken place. My mind was quick to accuse. _You're warming up to him. He kidnapped you! You should hate him!_

_But, _why _should I hate him? _A very small part of me rose to Erik's defense. _After all, what he said is true… I wouldn't be anything without him._

_What about Raoul? _the other side demanded. _Erik hurt him, too. Raoul has to be worried sick about you… Mama Valerius and Meg, too._

That made me upset. I forgot the exchange between Erik and myself as I thought about the three people I loved most in this world. My disappearance would have hurt them terribly. I started crying as I thought of them frantically looking for me, knowing only that I had left without a trace… without saying goodbye.

In the midst of these thoughts, I strengthened my resolve to never surrender. Whatever it took, I would force myself to hate Erik. I couldn't afford to feel anything else for him; he was too dangerous.

o0o

The tension in the air was so thick that you could have taken a knife and cut it. I had just done _Carmina Burana _a terrible injustice by purposefully singing very off-key.

Erik clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper. I was shocked that he had held out for so long. I had been intentionally irritating him for more than a week now. I would use cutting words, refuse to obey him, and sing badly. Basically, we were involved in a stressful game of cat-and-mouse. I, the mouse, squeaked and poked and poked at him while his muscles coiled, only waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge at me.

"Again, Christine," he instructed.

I sang the line again exactly the same way I had sung it before… only this time, it was much worse.

He gave an exasperated sigh and stopped playing the piano. I bit my lip and waited for his reaction. I suppose my goal was to make him angry so he would likewise anger me.

I was to be disappointed, for he merely shook his head and said, "I know you can do better, Christine. Whether or not you are simply playing some kind of childish game with me, you still love to sing. Eventually, you will stop acting immature on your own; I am not going to beg you to sing."

His response to my efforts disturbed me. Deep down, I knew he was right. I didn't have a spirit meant for purposefully exasperating others; I was a people pleaser. If I didn't try harder, I would become tired and just stop. Obviously, I needed to try more drastic measures.

Then, out of the blue, an idea hit me.

Erik was completely absorbed with something he was composing; he had nearly forgotten me. I quietly took some paper and a pen off a nearby desk. Then. I sat in one of the chairs. For a moment, I chewed on the pen absent-mindedly, thinking. I started writing after I had gathered my thoughts, head bent in concentration.

Erik was still composing by the time I was finished. I stood and cleared my throat. When he didn't move, I said "Erik!" loudly.

His head shot up , and he glared at me. "_What? _Oh…" He then remembered himself. "Yes?"

"I would like to return to my room now." I hesitated, and then added, "Please."

He rose with that creepy, unnatural grace of his and escorted me to my room. As we reached the doorway of the music room, I let the paper fall to the ground.

Once I was alone, I sat on my bed and waited for the explosion.

I didn't have to wait long. Less than half an hour later, I heard footsteps running towards my room. _Here it comes, _I thought to myself. Soon, Erik burst into the room, eyes burning like fire. In his hand was the piece of paper I had dropped.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

I made my voice as cold as possible. "You have no business reading that," I replied.

"You are in my house. I do have the right," he said just as coldly. He raised the letter to Raoul - for that was what I had written - and for the first time, I noticed that his hands were trembling. Taking a deep breath, I twisted the knife I had stuck into him.

"You're only mad because Raoul has what you will _never _have," I shouted. His eyes widened, and I continued. "You're jealous of him because I love him and would give absolutely _anything_ to be with him right now instead of you!" Then, I braced myself.

For the second time that day, he disappointed me.

He paled when I said, "I love him!" He looked so hurt - so very _sad _- that I immediately felt wicked. Why was I so determined to go out of my way just to provoke him into yelling at me? Why did I want to hate him so much?

In my heart, I knew: I was afraid of him.

I wished he would shout, shake me, or lock me up again. Anything would have been better than the way he was staring at me. Yet, still he did nothing.

"Are… are you going to punish me?" I asked nervously.

A tremor went through his body, and he finally looked away. "I cannot punish you for this, Christine… nothing would be changed," he said quietly. He took a step towards me. "But… one day, you will learn to forget the boy. Someday, Christine might love her poor Erik, for he is endlessly devoted to her." His cold thumb barely traced my cheek, and then he quickly gave me the letter and left.

I stood for a long time, unmoving. I didn't even look at the letter. I had been so sure that he would be furious with me. I had _needed_ his anger. Again, all I could feel about the situation was the burn of shame. My determination to hate him was fading fast.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night.

o0o

Several days later, I finally made Erik lose his temper. Ironically, it was completely unintentional.

We were singing the duet from _Othello. _Erik - in my mind - became Othello himself, for the character's hate and despair burst forth from his revengeful soul.

Suddenly, I had to see the face of the voice. The black mask seemed to jeer at me, taunting me to look behind it into my captor's face. I leaned forward slowly, as though it was something impulsive. Then, the perfect moment presented itself: he closed his eyes.

With a quick motion of my hand, I snatched off his mask… and oh, the horror!

Erik's face can hardly be called a face. His skin is a pale, disgusting yellow. His eyes are so sunken in that you could hardly see them. The very worst part is that _he has no nose! _Instead, a gaping black hole is in the center of his face! In truth, he looks like a corpse come to life.

As soon as his face was uncovered, he opened his eyes and emitted a cry of dismay… but I believe he would have instantly forgiven me if I had paid his disfigurement no mind.

Unfortunately, I instead dropped the mask and screamed.

He leapt to his feet. I instantly feel to my knees, silently begging for mercy… but it was too late.

"So!" he shouted. "You wanted to see behind my mask, did you? Well, why are you not looking? You wanted to see, so look at me. _Look at me!_" he screamed in rage. "Look upon me; glut your filthy soul upon my accursed ugliness! No, no… do not cover your eyes," he added, for I had buried my face in my hands. He grabbed my hands and lifted me off my knees in one motion. "Come here, my dear… put your pretty hands on my face. Or, do you think this is also a mask, which you can tear off me?"

He started advancing. I backed away, shaking my head frantically as tears poured down my cheeks. When my back hit the wall, he trapped me.

"Please," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, I believe you," he said wickedly. "I believe you are very sorry for what you have seen." here, he pressed my wrists into the wall above my head. I let out a cry of pain.

_"Look at me!"_ he screamed. I finally met his blazing eyes, trembling from terror. "This is who I am, Christine," he shouted at me. "A corpse… it is a corpse who loves you, who dreams about you and wants to hold you. Why did you insist on seeing me, you foolish girl?" All of his fury had changed to desperation and anguish by now. "Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me! And mad Erik, who is foolish enough to want her love!" Then, he sank to the floor, moaning and uttering heart-wrenching sobs. He covered his head with his hands as he wept, and I just stood, frozen.

For a few minutes, I thought he was going to die from my seeing him. His dark hair was hanging in his face, and his tears… I don't think I've ever seen another person weep so long and endlessly.

He raised his head at last to meet my eyes once more. "Christine," he whispered hoarsely. "Please…" He edged closer. I still didn't move. "Tell me you do not hate me. Tell me that you feel at least some compassion for your poor Erik."

At this - hearing his plea and seeing those tears fall from his eyes - my resolve shattered into a million pieces. Strangely, in that moment of complete brokenness, Erik wasn't an angel, nor a ghost, nor a genius; nor was he a villain or a corpse.

He was just Erik.

Slowly, I said, "No, Erik… I don't hate you."

When announced that, he started weeping anew. He fell forward and held onto my knees. I believe he would have knocked me over in his ardor if the wall behind me hadn't prevented me from falling. Carefully, fearfully, I gently placed my hand on his head and rested it there. His hair was surprisingly soft. For once, I felt enough compassion for him to feel no bitterness at all. I only wanted to comfort him.

Later, I wrote in my journal:

_I can't say that he doesn't love me anymore, for I can see that he does. He crawls, he moans, and he weeps… all for love._

_I should hate him. I shouldn't feel sorry for him, but I do. He terrifies me beyond belief; he _kidnapped _me, for heaven's sake!_

_Maybe that's why I'm so confused; he fills me with horror… but I just can't hate him. Though I want to hate him - _need _to hate him - I'm unable to hate Erik._


	30. You Were Always There

**Trust me, guys... I'm far more peeved than all of you that I haven't updated sooner. BUT, school will be out in less than two weeks, and then, I'll (hopefully) have time to write more. Thank you so much for all of your patience.**

**Chapter 29: You Were Always There**

_**Erik**_

Despite Christine's intentions, I could tell that my face had unnerved her. I cannot blame her; it gave me nightmares for weeks when I first realized that the ghastly reflection in the mirror was my face. I have to say I admire her still for trying to act nonchalant, though; the poor girl really was attempting to make things right. To my eternal gratitude, she did not speak of it. You see, I bore more shame than my wretched face; my reaction was inexcusable. I winced every time I heard her scream in my mind. After the scream, I cannot recall what happened. My executions were the same way during my days in Persia. I think my mind blocked out the terrible memories in an action of self-defense, and I never mourned their loss. The next morning, all I could remember was a flash of red as I was filled with fury. Still, I was all too aware of the bruises covering Christine's wrists.

Yet, in the midst of my despair, hope was renewed in my heart. An angel had a close brush with Death. She held him as he wept and did not die when he touched her. She willingly allowed his dark form to invade her light. In spite of everything, she whispered that she did not hate him.

Both Christine and I walked on eggshells for the next week. Neither of us were willing to make the other angry. We hardly exchanged more than a few words each day. In fact, the only time I saw her was during her voice lessons. And, that is why I did not notice when she became sick until she collapsed.

She was struggling to match pitch for the first time since the very first few months of her lessons. Her posture was bad, and she would not look at me. Thinking she was remembering my face in disgust, I said nothing. I was singing a line when I heard a crash behind me, and I turned to see Christine on the ground. Instantly, I was by her side, trying to hide the cold hand of terror that was gripping my heart. "Christine? What is wrong? Are you hurt?" I asked, somehow managing to sound calm.

"I… I'm alright," she stuttered weakly. I placed my hand on her forehead, and my icy hands met blistering heat. She jerked away from me in shock; the contrast of our skin was obvious to both of us. There was no time for me to be timid, however. I swept her into my arms and carried her upstairs without a word. At first, her little hands pushed against my chest in protest, but soon, she did not have the strength to fight anymore. With a resigned sigh, she crossed her arms, clearly showing me that she was not going to be as accommodating this time as I held her. I have turned her into such a little diva.

Once we reached her bedroom, I carefully placed her onto her bed. She blushed slightly but did not fight me as I tucked her under the covers. We never spoke or met each other's eyes, and that did not change when I turned to leave her room.

The maid took care of Christine during the day, but at night, I would sit by her bedside as she slept until dawn. I hated to be away from her, especially knowing she was ill, but I did it for her comfort. However, on the third day, the maid informed me that Christine was asking for me.

"Are you quite certain?" I inquired, surprised.

"My name isn't Erik, so I'm fairly certain," she grumbled. So, feeling a bit uneasy, I went to see Christine.

She looked terrible. Her face was covered with sweat, her hair was stringy and dirty, and her eyes were red. "You asked for me?" I did not doubt the maid's words; I doubted my own mind, for I could not imagine why she would possibly ask for me.

"Yes," she replied, her beautiful voice raspy and weak. "I'm so bored, Erik. I was wondering if you would… if you would sit awhile with me?"

I eyed her uncertainly. "Are you sure?'

"Please, Erik? I'm so tired of being alone."

Finally, I gave in and sat on the end of her bed. "I will stay as long as you do not try to talk. I do not want you damaging your voice." Her voice was the only part of her that was _mine, _and I would not lose it.

She nodded, and we sat for a few moments. I looked around her room. I noticed that she had brought a few books to her room. It did not surprise me; my girl has always been an avid reader. Suddenly, an idea came to me. I stood, went over to the books, and picked up _Much Ado About Nothing. _When I rejoined her, she raised an eyebrow but did not speak. Without commenting on her expression, I opened the book and began to read to her.

I do not know how long I read to her before she fell asleep, but I stayed with her. I simply watched her, noting how peaceful she looked while she was in the land of dreams. I wondered what she dreamed of… if she dreamed of _him… _if she dreamed of _me._

When she woke, she did not seem startled that I was still there. She only asked, "Where were we in the story?" I picked up the book again and read to her. We both laughed at Benedick and Beatrice, and she gasped in horror at Don John's plot against Hero. Once, she had an awful coughing fit, and I helped her sit up so she could catch her breath. My hand accidentally brushed her cheek. I withdrew it, mumbling my apologies, but she quickly snatched it and placed it back on her cheek. "Please leave it there," she whispered. "It feels so good against the heat." For the first time, I was enabled to indulge in my desire to bury my hands in her golden curls and stroke her porcelain cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned her hand into my touch.

"Sleep, angel," I bid her. "I will be here when you wake."

"You promise?" she asked, opening her eyes in alarm.

"Yes, Christine. I promise."

"Good," she said, smiling slightly. "Thank you, Erik."

"For what?" I asked, taken aback.

She sighed, her expression somewhat sad. "Thank you for being here. No matter what, no matter how angry I made you… you were always there for me."

o0o

She was better within a week, and life returned to normal. I no longer read to her nor visited her in her room. We never spoke of it. Still… it had happened, and I dared to believed that one day, she would love me.


	31. Frustration

**Chapter 30: Frustration**

_**Christine**_

Needless to say, I gave up trying to hate Erik. I knew any attempts to make myself hate him would be futile. Through some bizarre decision, God decided to make me an extremely compassionate person when He created me. Consequently, the depth of Erik's anguish begged everything within me to help him. Anyway, my nature has never been to hate other people. I'm a people pleaser; I want people to be happy. Meg always called me altruistic. The rest of the world would label me stupid if it could see me now.

The most frustrating part was that I had every legitimate reason to hate that man. Not only did he lead me to believe that he was sent by my father (I'm still embarrassed that I feel for such a crazy story), but he monopolized my time and energy for two years. Then, when that wasn't enough to satisfy him, he decided to take me away from the world completely. Oh, and not to mention he fell in love with me before I was eighteen, which was just weird since he was posing as my father figure. I'm not going to lie: just because I _couldn't _hate him didn't mean I didn't _want _to hate him. And, let's not forget his face. Just because I felt sorry for him didn't men he was any less physically repulsive in my eyes. Don't judge me and say I'm heartless; it's something you have to see to understand, and I don't think Erik would let you see his face and live, even if you said "pretty please with sugar on top." For the first time in my miserable life, I was very fortunate, for I knew that he would have killed anyone else.

Thus said, being nice to him wasn't easy. He still scared me clean out of my mind, and sometimes, I would escape to my room and scream into my pillow out of sheer frustration. Do you have any idea how infuriated you can become if you want – _need _– to strongly dislike a person but you find yourself feeling sorry for him instead? Yet, how can you hate someone if he is so madly in love with you that he will die for you in a heartbeat… kill for you, even? Erik bore an obsessive, all-consuming love for me. As frightening as the knowledge of this was, it did finally convince me that he was truly in love with me.

Believe me, I really doubted my sanity during the first two months of my imprisonment.

About the unmasking incident… well, we both functioned like it never happened, though the effects of it were no doubt evident. I suppose this was easier on both of us; neither of us wanted to think or talk about it, especially not to each other.

I continued to resist him, but my sickness made things more complicated. I was so bored that I asked him to come sit with me. To my relief, he didn't try to talk to me; instead, he read to me. And, after I became well again, he stopped visiting me in my room. I was surprised at how gentle he was with me during my illness; after witnessing all of his rage and darkness, I didn't think it was possible for him to be so… tender. I pretended that it changed nothing, though. He would have to do more than be nice to me while I was sick if he wanted me to trust him. Of course, I didn't stop to think that I wasn't the only one who was growing frustrated.

I remember one day, I sat sulking on the couch after my lesson. I wasn't trying to anger him, nor was I wallowing in self-pity. I was simply bored to death.

"Erik, can we go for a walk outside?"

I honestly wonder why God have me a tongue sometimes; I have a tendency to say precisely the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"Do you want to leave me, then?" he asked softly. Uh-oh… that couldn't be good. His eyes were shooting off sparks, and I could tell he was going to explode in about three seconds. Hastily, I tried to sooth him.

"No, that's not what I –"

"You _lie!" _He leapt out of his chair glowered down at me. "You want to go away and never come back! You would abandon me without a second thought, would you not, my dear?" he sneered. I shuddered and kept my mouth shut while he ranted and raved. "Erik does everything he can possibly think of to make you happy, but you still refuse to show him even the slightest bit of kindness. A kind word, Christine…" He broke off and knelt by my feel, looking up into my face pleadingly. "If you will only show Erik the least bit of pity and kindness, he would live on it for the rest of his life." His breathing was becoming ragged, but I still said nothing. "You do not know how much I wish I had something better to offer you… a corpse for Christine! A corpse, when she is so full of life! But, maybe her life will restore him… yes, she can save him if she will only try."

I could only stare back in fear and compassion. He was so pitiful! He wasn't making any sense, but even I could hear the agony in his voice. In that moment, I was full of self-loathing for being so very selfish. He had tried to make me happy, had he not? Didn't that count for something? I was so ashamed that I didn't notice the tears that started trickling down my face.

"Ah, she cries for him!" he breathed, edging closer. He took my hands, and I knelt beside him. He still towered above me, even when we were on our knees, and I felt very vulnerable and powerless. He reached for me, and I tried to hide my trembling as he gently wiped my tears away with his thumb. His cold touch wasn't unpleasant; indeed, I was growing quite accustomed to it, and how could I deny him such a small liberty?

"Do not cry, sweet Christine," he whispered. "Erik is not worth one of your tears; they are like gems to him. Dry your eyes, love."

He sounded so much like the Angel of Music that I had adored that I was filled with longing for him. Not, it wasn't longing… it was acute _need. _I needed my angel so badly that I was willing to accept Erik, if only for a few minutes.

I could feel his muscles tighten as I carefully leaned my head against his shoulder. Ever so slowly, he put his arms around me and wrapped me in a careful embrace was we sat on the ground and silently cried together. My heart ached for him, for I could tell by his uncertainty that it was his first embrace.

"Erik…" I hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I miss my angel."

He sighed and placed his hand on my cheek, softly guiding my face to look into his eyes. It was strange; at that moment, they were like golden flames, and the flames were warm, not scorching. "He is still here, Christine. He promised never to leave you, and he will always keep his promise."

I almost told him that he wasn't always my angel. My angel was kind and understanding, but Erik usually filled me with terror. In his mind, he was my Angel of Music, but I knew that he and my angel were two completely different beings. I had truly lost my angel forever, and I couldn't hold back my tears. "Please, sing for me," I begged quietly. Perhaps when he sang, I could pretend that my angel was still with me.

Without a moment's pause, he started to sing. His voice was infinitely sweet and caressing. Before long, I felt myself drifting away, for I was still weak due to my sickness. For the third time since he had taken me, Erik took me in his arms, and again, I put my arms around his neck… only this time, I was fully aware of my actions. Later, I would be frustrated with myself, but at that moment, I couldn't have cared less. His angel's voice hypnotized me, and I didn't mind; instead, I welcomed the oblivion he offered.


	32. Stars

**I won't be able to update for at least two weeks. Please be patient with me, and R&R.**

**Chapter 31: Stars**

A few days later, Erik surprised me after one of my lessons. I was feeling very pleased with myself because I knew I had sung well, and the tension between us wasn't as heavy.

"Christine," he said suddenly. He looked away for a moment, and I felt sorry for him. He appeared so vulnerable, which was odd considering he was the master, the one with all of the power. "Christine," he began again, clearing his throat. "I was wondering if you would like to go for a walk later."

I stared at him, stunned. I hadn't even imagined that he would give my earlier request a second thought. "A walk?"

"Yes, Christine," he answered calmly, his tone keeping all of his true feelings locked away so I couldn't decipher them.

"Outside?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes," he repeated, still void of emotion.

"Well… sure. I mean, of course! You mean it? You'll seriously take me outside?" My voice rose as my excitement started escalating.

The slightest of smiles appeared on his face, finally cracking his stony persona. "You did ask me to take you on a walk, did you not?"

I couldn't help but return his smile. "Thank you so much!" I exclaimed excitedly. Then, in an act so sudden that it surprised even me, I wrapped my arms around his waist in a quick hug. I felt his muscles tighten and heard him gasp quietly in shock. My cheeks swiftly turned bright pink as I pulled away. Without meeting his gaze, I quickly left the room.

I emerged less than ten minutes later. I started towards the door, but a cold hand took hold of mine. I turned questioningly towards Erik, praying he wouldn't be too angry with me for being so eager to leave the house. Had he changed his mind?

"You should eat dinner first," he explained in a gentle voice.

I tried not to roll my eyes. Honestly! Food was much less attractive than going outside, and any sort of delay only made me more impatient. However, I decided that the prudent thing to do would be to humor him. I certainly didn't want to anger him and lose my newfound privilege. So, I sighed quietly and followed him to the dining room. Only one glass, a plate of food, and a set of silverware were on the table. He never ate in front of me. I suppose I could have told him that the mask was no longer necessary – every time I looked at him, I saw his face in my mind – but I didn't think it would make any difference. He wanted to pretend that I had never seen his face, and who was I to deny him such a small favor?

After I had quickly gulped down my food, I followed him to the door. He slowly took something out of his pocket: a blindfold. Shocked, I stepped back.

He didn't meet my eyes as he muttered, "It is necessary, Christine, if you are going to leave the house."

I nodded and turned so my back was to him. As much as the idea of wearing a blindfold repulsed me, I knew he had ample reasons to distrust me, especially considering that the only other time I left the house was during an escape attempt. Subsequently, I didn't protest further as he tied the piece of fabric around my head. Once my eyes were covered, he took my hand and we started walking. After a time, I heard him warn, "Duck your head, my dear." I obeyed as he assisted me into what must have been the car. I felt him follow me, and then, we started moving. No one spoke. I leaned my head against the window and tried to imagine what we were passing as we traveled.

While I was lost in my own thoughts, I felt Erik's ice-cold fingers brush against my neck. I shuddered from the sudden chill on my skin… and then, I realized I could see. Eagerly, I pressed my nose to the glass, but to my dismay, I couldn't see anything, for it was dark outside of the car. Disappointed, I sat back in my seat.

"I thought you might be more comfortable without the blindfold," Erik said softly. "You will be able to walk around and see soon."

Crimson began creeping into my cheeks. I hadn't given him a moment of thought once the blindfold had been removed. I faced him. He was completely hidden in shadow, except for his golden eyes. I smiled as warmly as I could. "Thank you."

Soon afterwards, the car slowed and stopped. Erik exited first, and I followed him. He had taken me to a forest, from what I could see. Taking hold of my hand once again, we walked (he was leading, obviously) until we reached a small clearing. I closed my eyes and breathed the fresh air, a smile coming to my f ac e. I had missed this. Like so many other people, I took thinks like fresh air for granted. Never before had I fully appreciated the beauty of nature. People just don't realize that they are incredibly fortunate to make their own choices… to be free. I knew now. Everything was taken away from me. I had no idea what would happen to me, and I was completely powerless in regards to my future. I didn't like not knowing; it set my nerves on end. This was all Erik's fault. If hadn't kidnapped me, I would be safe in Mama Valerius' house. Yes, if it hadn't been for Erik…

My musing was interrupted as a gust of cold wind attacked my poor body. Though I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, it wasn't enough to fully protect me from the cold. I shivered and my teeth chattered. I tried to suffer discreetly, though; I didn't want Erik to take me back to the house yet.

Before I could react, I felt something warm being draped over my shoulders. Startled, I turned to see Erik standing coatless beside me. I smiled at him, putting as much gratitude as I possibly could into my smile. Then, I pulled the coat closer around me. It smelled… good. Not like cologne or typical "guy" smells; it smelled warm and comforting and homey. Immediately, I relaxed.

Erik's unexpected yet thoughtful gesture led me to another train of thought. If Erik hadn't reached out to me, I never would have survived the death of my mother. I never would have recovered from my father's death if Erik hadn't taken me under his wing. After the death of my mother, I would have been sent away to live with strangers instead of dear Mama Valerius, had not Erik intervened on my behalf. Yes, Erik had taken much from me… but hadn't he _given _me much, also?

I made a mental note to ponder all of this later.

For a long time, we just stood there. I took in absolutely everything, utterly content for the first time in ages. Lifting my head to the night sky, I was amazed to see millions of stars shining down upon me. I remembered how my first date with Raoul had been perfect in every way but one: the stars were hidden. Yet, they now twinkled above me in abundance. How very strange.

Much too soon, Erik said, "We should be going, Christine." I faced him, silently begging him to postpone the return trip. He shook his head. "The hour is late, my dear," he informed me gently. "I promise to bring you here again."

"Soon?" I pressed.

"Yes," he promised. Thought I was still reluctant to say goodbye to the night sky, I allowed him to take my hand and lead me back to the waiting car. Being outside obviously made him uneasy, and his unselfishness overwhelmed me.

Not long after we started moving, I yawned sleepily. I tried to lean against the window, but that made my neck ache from the odd angle. I had a bizarre idea, and I blushed profusely, thankful for the darkness. Still, I could hardly keep my eyes open, so I finally gave in and timidly leaned my head against Erik's shoulder. I half-expected him to push me away, but he didn't, although I could tell that the contact made him uncomfortable. I, however, wasn't bothered; finally comfortable, I succumbed to sleep with a small smile on my face.

o0o

When I woke, I was surprised to find myself in my bed. My shoes had been removed, and the comforter was pulled up around me. The clock on my nightstand told me that the time was two in the morning. I was more than a little embarrassed after I realized that Erik's coat was still covering me and I was clasping it rather tightly.

"You would not let it go," said a soft voice.

I turned my head to find Erik sitting in a chair that was against the wall. Confused, I asked, "Why are you in here?" He hadn't come into my room since I was sick.

"I like watching you sleep," he confessed. "You look so peaceful and content while you are in slumber." Seeing my astonishment, he added, "I will leave if you wish."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay," I assured him. "You can stay, if you want." Despite everything he had done to me, I trust that he would take no liberties with my sleeping form. _Besides, _I argued with myself, _if he wanted _that, _he could have easily taken it a hundred times by now. He won't dishonor you that way; he loves you. _For the first time, the thought of Erik's love was a comfort, not an annoyance or source of fear. And, after deciding to listen to reason, I fell back asleep while his glowing eyes watched over me like two stars shining in the darkness.


	33. Forbidden Fruit

_**Finally, **_** new chapter for you guys! I trust that everyone had a very Merry Christmas, and here's a slightly-belated Christmas gift for all of you. Read. Review. Tell your friends to read and review... ;)**

**Chapter 32: Forbidden Fruit**

_**Erik**_

I was feeling quite good about everything that had transpired between Christine and me recently. She no longer looked at me as though I was a monster, for starters, and I was controlling my temper. We went a whole two weeks without fighting, and they were blissful. Yet, something always comes between us, and for the first time, it was not my fault.

If Christine has one flaw, it is her unending curiosity. It caused her to remove my mask, and if she was a cat, that curiosity would have killed her ages ago. Like I said, we shared two weeks of peace, but then, her infernal curiosity got in the way.

I spent another sleepless night composing my _Don Juan Triumphant. _As much as I appreciate peace, I missed composing. I suppose I never thought having Christine with me would diminish my composing time. Oh, I still composed light, insignificant pieces to please her, but my opera was constantly put on hold until she was asleep. I could not simply lock her in her room for an hour or two; that had been a disaster last time. And, I could not ask her to stay away for a while. I knew her curiosity would eventually compel her to try to persuade me to let her listen, and I did _not _want her to hear my _Don Juan. _

You see, I was not entirely truthful with her when she wanted to know why I would not let her listen. I told her the music was terrible, yes, but I did not tell her _why _it was so terrible. The fire in _Don Juan _is all of my most carnal desires placed into song: hate, despair, and lust. Out of those three, I was determined Christine should never know of that last one. She was still a child, still innocent and naïve, and I could not subject her to the passion of my opera. It would make her afraid of me again. _Don Juan _contained all of the knowledge of the tree of good and evil. I would not be her serpent. I would be a good Adam to her and not allow her to fall as the Adam in Scriptures, standing by as evil seduced her. I would protect my Eve.

So, I composed late into the night, losing myself to my terrible music. I lost track of time, as usual. All I knew were the melodies brought to life by my fingertips.

I did not see her approach or I would have stopped immediately. However, I was so lost that I continued playing, venting my frustration due to my earthly desires through my piano. My eyes were closed, my mind lost to anything other than music.

The sound of glass breaking broke concentration at last. My eyes flew open, and I was terrified to see her sitting against the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks and shaking. Instantly, I closed the keyboard cover and approached her. Her eyes were huge as she looked up at me. Carefully, I knelt and took her hands. "Are you alright?" I asked.

"That was your _Don Juan, _wasn't it?" she whispered. I nodded, and she shuddered. "Erik, it's… it's… so tragic."

"You should not have listened," I rebuked gently.

She shook her head. "I couldn't leave. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't; it was as if it wouldn't _let _me. Why?"

I knew, of course. The dark passion in Don Juan is irresistible, and while she – curious, ignorant girl that she was – did not know passion, it still impacted her. "Music this powerful can hold onto anyone," I said, "and you are more susceptible to it than most due to your training."

"It frightens me," she told me, her innocent blue eyes still huge. "I don't understand it."

_And, you never will,_ I thought. Sighing, I said aloud, "Perhaps we ought to not sing today, as you are obviously distressed. Come, I will make you some tea. Will that make you feel better?" I was treating her like a child, but I did not know what else to do under the circumstances. She did not seem to mind, and as we went upstairs to the kitchen, I felt a sense of relief that she had come away unscathed.

o0o

I was reading in the library a few nights later. I was taking a hiatus from my Don Juan thanks to my close call with Christine. It was long past midnight, so I assumed my angel was upstairs, fast asleep.

That being said, I am sure you can imagine my surprise when I heard her murmur, "Erik?" I looked up from my book… and inhaled sharply. There she stood in the doorway, her golden hair delightfully tousled. Her shorts were… short, short enough to make me rather uncomfortable. The straps of her top appeared to be strings, and the material was silky. I cleared my throat several times before I was able to speak. "Yes?" I asked, sounding harsher than I intended.

"I can't sleep," she said apologetically. "Will you read to me?" I barely suppressed my groan. On one hand, her attire was making my face warm with embarrassment, but when have I ever been able to deny her something when she asks so sweetly?

Therefore, I agreed. She padded over to the couch and curled up next to me, her head resting against my shoulder. Cursing myself for my weakness, I began to read. I tried to forget her presence, but she was much too close. Her arm kept brushing mine, her breath was on my neck, and it was driving me to distraction. Finally, as she was falling asleep, her bare leg rested against mine and she sighed contentedly. Shocked, I pushed her away. "Enough!" I cried. "I cannot do this, Christine!"

She looked at me, apparently hurt by my reaction. "What?" she asked. "I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" She reached out her small hand to touch my arm, and I jerked away, trembling. "You need to go to your room," I told her.

"Erik! What is wrong with you?" she demanded, irritation creeping into her voice. "If you really mind reading to me so much, you should have said so in the first place!"

_"Confound_ your blasted innocence!" I roared, furious. "Think, Christine, _think!_ I might look like a monster, but I am still a man! Take one look at yourself in the mirror!"

Her expression was bewildered. "This is about my _pajamas?"_ She stepped closer. "I don't understand…"

And, that is when I knew in order to protect her, I would have to tell her the truth. "Think about when you heard my music the other day," I urged her. "I wrote that music, Christine… after I met you. I have a man's desires, ghastly as I may be, and I cannot be so close to you when… when…" I broke off and met her eyes, pleading with her to understand… and forgive me.

At first, she only looked more confused. Yet, moments later, I saw it: the dawning realization on her face. She whispered, "A man's desires…?" and then, she understood. She looked horrified and backed away. I wanted nothing more than to hold her close and assure her that she did not need to be afraid, but I was not willing to risk something happening. Instead, I sighed and said quietly, "Go to your room and lock the door. Do not come out again until morning. I am so sorry, angel." Without another word, she ran out of the library. Once she was safely out of sight, I collapsed into a chair and wept, mourning for my innocent girl. Now, she had eaten the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, and what good could come from it? My last hope was destroyed; she would never see me as anything except a monster again.


	34. Ignorance is Bliss

**Due to a computer crash, I have lost the original chapters for this story, which means I'm having to re-write all future chapters. Re-writing is much harder for me than writing from scratch, so chapters might not be frequently added. Please continue your indulgence, and r & r.**

**Chapter 33: Ignorance is Bliss**

Why did I always have to _know?_

My thirst for knowledge was constantly deteriorating anything Erik and I had between us. His mask, for example, was not – if I was perfectly honest – a big deal until my curiosity piqued to an uncontrollable point. I hadn't needed to know what lay beneath it, but like a child, I snatched it away simply because I wanted to _see._

This time, I'd pushed Erik for knowledge because I didn't understand. I saw he was uncomfortable, but I didn't care. Then, when he was honest with me, I fled.

I now understand the Eve must have felt in the moments following her taste of the forbidden fruit. To go from blissful ignorance to stark, unrelenting understanding in a matter of minutes made me feel as though I'd been swept up in a tornado. I sat on my bed the rest of the night, my head resting on my knees as I tried to recover from the crash.

Erik lusted after me.

A shiver racked through my tired body. Out of all of his… less than desirable qualities, this aspect of him frightened me the most. I knew very little of desire, and what I'd seen wasn't pleasant and bore awful consequences.

The only thing that might have been greater than my fear was my surprise. Never in my wildest dreams did I consider that Erik wanted me in that sense. Yes, he said he loved me, but I didn't connect love and… well, you know.

I was such a stupid child. I'd stubbornly refused to see the truth. I'd convinced myself that he could become my angel again. I thought he'd be satisfied with the kind of love a father and daughter shared. I suppose I thought we'd spend the rest of our lives singing and reading. I'd certainly hoped he would accept the limitations of my feeble mind. But, lust completely altered the equation, turning it into a problem I couldn't solve.

The worst part was that even as I recoiled from the knowledge I'd just gained, my mind – my soul – was haunted by Erik's music. The passion of his _Don Juan _was a demanding fire, and I was afraid that I would be burned if I ventured too close. It held a dark power over me. I'd believed I knew a great deal concerning music, but now, I wondered if I'd ever heard the sound before Erik played from his opera. It called to me, pleaded with me, and there was nowhere for me to run and hide.

Erik was the most brilliant man I'd ever encountered, but he made a tragic mistake when he chose me. I was a coward. If I wasn't a coward, I would have embraced his fierce passion. But, I wasn't brave enough.

I wasn't brave enough for Erik.

o0o

I could tell that he was avoiding me as much as I was avoiding him. When I went downstairs in the morning, I would find breakfast on the table, but he wouldn't be present. I would hear him playing the piano late at night, but when I crept to the music room, it was empty. The library was always vacant during my visits. If it wasn't for my lessons, I might have believed I was living in a haunted house.

I could have sought Erik in his room, but there was no way I could handle seeing his coffin again. I didn't want another visual reminder that he wasn't an angel.

After several days of this behavior, we were singing "O Sink, Hernieder, Nacht Der Liebe" from _Tristan Und Isolde. _His song choice irritated me. He refused to discuss what had happened in the library that night, and the fact that he wanted to sing such a tragic duet with me was too much. Without thinking, I asked, "Why won't you just tell me that you love me instead of always hiding behind music?"

The piano accompaniment immediately ceased. Erik's golden eyes met mine. "What did you say?" he questioned slowly.

"You heard me!" I insisted. "I've known you for nearly three years, and you're still hardly more than a stranger! You never tell me what you really feel; you're a huge puzzle that refuses to fit together!"

His hands were gripping the edge of the piano so tightly that I could see the tensed muscles in his arms. "If I recall, the last time I told you exactly what I was feeling – due to _your _insistence, mind you! – you ran away."

"You told me to run!" I retorted defensively. "And, what would you expect me to do?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they would have terrible consequences. I could practically _feel _Erik's anger radiating off him. "So, that is what you think of me?" His voice was soft, oh so soft, and so dangerous. "What a great offense I have committed! To think that I would dare consider myself man enough to long for your embrace! That would be the greatest sin of all, would it not, my dear innocent?"

"Erik, I'm sorry –"

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "Christine is always sorry. She always acts without considering the harm her actions might cause, and she thinks that being sorry will solve everything."

"Stop it!" I shouted, beginning to feel frightened.

"Stop _what, _Christine?" he roared, finally pushed over the edge. He leapt from the piano bench. Within moments, I found myself pinned between him and the wall. His golden eyes scorched mine, yet I could not look away. "Stop loving you? Is that what you want? Well, I have _tried _harder than you could ever imagine. I did not want to imprison you here. I did not want to be a monster; I only wanted to be your angel. Yet, I cannot be that for you. And, if you cannot have me as an angel, you do not want me at all, do you? The man is not enough for you. Well, my dear, there is only Erik. I am not an angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost; I am a _man. _The time for ignorance is past. You wanted to taste the forbidden fruit, and you must live with the knowledge you have gained."

I said nothing. How could I when everything he said was true?

His eyes trailed to my lips. My stomach churned. While I was an ignorant child, I couldn't deny the overwhelming desire I saw in his eyes. Ever so softly, as if he was afraid, he ran his thumb over my lower lip.

"A kiss is such a simple thing," he said softly. "Yet, it is something I have never known."

I did not know I was crying until his ice-tipped fingers were tenderly brushing away my tears. Never have I felt so ashamed. He was baring his heart to me, showing me his pain, yet he was so gentle while touching my guilty tears. In that moment, I knew he would never act on his lust. He would burn silently without a single complaint. I felt sick for ever doubting him after the countless times he had guarded my virtue.

When I didn't pull away, it made him bold. His eyes met mine again, pleading silently, and he started to close the distance between us. My eyes fluttered closed, anticipating the kiss…

But, I couldn't do it. He asked for so little, and I wouldn't – _couldn't – _give it to him. The moment before our lips touched, I turned my head.

I felt his trembling breath on my cheek. "Of course," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "A monster's twisted lips should never defile an angel's. Forgive me."

_Forgive me, _I wanted to cry. Instead, I ran away like the coward I am without a word.


	35. Burning

**I was sitting at my computer, thinking of ideas for the next chapter, and the key aspects of this one came back to me. I'm absolutely thrilled about it because this was one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it, too. **

**A HUGE thank you to ThirdCellarShade for some truly helpful advise about the rewriting process. Your suggestions have assisted me in getting back into the swing of this story and to look at the situation in a positive light.**

**And, thank you to emeraldphan. Your last review greatly inspired this chapter. You are the bomb!**

**R&R.**

**Chapter 34: Burning**

Erik and I scarcely saw or spoke to each other after the night in the library. We were strangers living in the same house. Music was the only thing that brought us together. I thought the distance between us couldn't possibly grow anymore.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

After our… conversation in the music room, Erik disappeared. Where I rarely glimpsed evidence of his existence before, there was nothing now. It was almost as though he had never existed. During that time, I didn't have any contact with another human being. After my parents died, I'd believed myself completely alone in the world. However, I quickly learned what it meant to be truly alone.

I searched for Erik everywhere. I even went into his room, but all to no avail. He wasn't there. He wasn't _anywhere. _And, to my mortification, I longed for him. The one constant in my life was now gone, and I was lost.

On the third morning, I went downstairs, my eyes heavy with sleep and my hair messily tied back. I entered the dining room… and stopped in my tracks. Erik was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper as though nothing had happened.

"Erik!" I exclaimed breathily.

He lowered his paper, and for a moment, I wanted to run out of the room. His body language was controlled, his mouth unsmiling, and his eyes were blank. "Good morning, Christine. I hope you slept well."

I felt as though I'd been slapped in the face. His greeting was so cold! His voice frightened me in its lack of emotion. Also, he hadn't used one of his pet names for me. I fervently told myself that I didn't mind, but deep down, it hurt.

"What… what have I done to upset you?" I asked uneasily.

"Nothing, nothing," was all he said. Now, please eat your breakfast. Your lesson starts in an hour."

Defeated, I sat at the table and began to eat. The whole time, he didn't look at me once.

It was the same way during my music lesson. He hardly spoke to me and refused to look at me. His stubbornness was driving me crazy. When I completely bombed one of his favorite arias and he _still _wouldn't look at me, I exploded. _"Why _are you angry with me?" I demanded.

"I have no idea what you –"

I slammed the keyboard covering down on the piano, almost smashing his fingers. _That _finally got his attention. "What is wrong with you? Why are you in such a tantrum?"

"It's your fault! You disappear for three whole days and come waltzing back in like nothing happened! Why are you acting this way?"

"Acting what way?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Erik!"

He raised an eyebrow cynically. I only glared back. I wouldn't allow him to intimidate me. I was sick of being afraid of his temper, and I was so angry that mine could match his own. "In what way am I acting, Christine?" he repeated. "Please elaborate for me. You do it quite well."

"You won't speak at me except to correct my mistakes while I'm singing, you won't look at me, and you're so cold. What has happened?"

His roar of laughter startled me. It was not the gentle laughter that I had grown so fond of lately; this was unbridled, insane laughter. "Stop this," I whispered.

"You truly do not realize how hypocritical you are, do you?" he inquired. "You accuse me of being evil for loving you and wanting to give you everything. You condemn me for wanting the simplest of touches. You are frightened by the thought of being desirable because no one has ever looked twice at you before, and passion is foreign to you. Yet, when I adhere to your wishes, you _still _are not happy. What do you want?" He took a step closer, and I looked away. He chuckled darkly. "Ah, ah, Christine!" he scolded mockingly. "You just yelled at me for not looking at you. Do not look away now that something is before you that you do not want to see." He grabbed my chin and forced me to look into his burning eyes. _"What do you want?" _

"I don't know!" I whimpered, struggling to break free.

"Oh, I think you do!" he insisted. "You are just far too stubborn to admit it. You will not listen to your heart because you think it is wrong to love such a monster. You always do as you are told without question. You allowed me to control you for two years without protesting. And, why was that? Because you _wanted _to obey me."

"That's not true!" I protested weakly.

_"Stop lying to me!" _he bellowed. "You can lie to the world, you can even lie to yourself, but you can _never _lie to me, Christine. I know you too well. I know you because _I love you. _I love you in spite of your fears and your insecurities and your childish tendencies. I have been beyond patient with you, waiting for you to grow up. Well, I am tired of playing your father. You are too old to be coddled, and I refuse to spoil you any longer. You are an adult now whether you like it or not. You have to start making decisions. So, I will ask you one more time: _what do you want? _Do not tell me what I want to hear or what you think you should say. Just tell me what you want." His hands moved to rest on my shoulders, and his eyes relentlessly searched mine. The fire in his eyes was spectacular, and for one moment, I almost gave in to him. But, I was still too afraid. If I gave in to Erik, what would it mean? He wouldn't let me hide anything; he would demand all of me, body and soul. I couldn't give it to him. He was too far beyond my understanding.

"I don't know," I whispered helplessly.

His hands dropped, and he turned away. Feeling guilty yet again, I closed the difference between us and placed my hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I told him.

He turned to face me again, and his eyes were filled with anguish. "For what, Christine?"

_For not being strong enough to love you. _"That you fell in love with me. Everything I do hurts you."

He turned his face away. "That certainly seems to be the story of our lives, does it not?" With that, he walked away without looking back.

And, that hurt more than anything.

o0o

The tension in the room was insurmountable.

We both sat in the library, silently reading. Well, Erik was reading. I was trying to concentrate on my book, but my gaze kept returning to him. We still were not on speaking terms, and it appeared we were at an impasse.

I sighed and stood, searching the bookshelves. Erik's library was truly a masterpiece. All of the books were arranged by subject: science, art, politics, music, fiction. Name a book and I'm sure Erik has it in his collection.

As my eyes roamed the shelves, looking for something new to read, I couldn't squelch the nagging feeling that something was missing. Something was odd, though I couldn't quite place my finger on it.

When I saw his copy of _The Origin of Species _in the science section, it finally hit me.

"Erik, your library is missing a Bible," I said.

"It is intentional," he replied without raising his eyes from his book.

I turned, surprised. "But, you have every other type of book ever written. If you're going to own a copy of _The Origin of Species, _why not own a Bible, too?"

"Christine," he sighed, at last meeting my confused stare. "No Bibles are on my shelves because I do not wish for them to be in my collection."

"But, why –"

"Because I do not believe in God."

That stunned me into silence. I was raised believing that God was real. I'd never known anyone who thought differently before, and it bewildered to hear Erik's unashamed confession.

He must have sensed my confusion, for he tried to explain his position to me. "What kind of loving deity would create a monster? Why would he allow the world to fall into ruin? Why would he take your father away from you and then your mother? Why would he allow me to keep you here?"

"He works in mysterious ways –"

"He does not work at all, Christine, because he does not exist." He sighed again. "The hour is late. You should go to bed."

His dismissal was plain to hear. With a last, sad look at him, I turned and left the library.

o0o

_The flames were everywhere. I could hardly see through all of the smoke. I cowered and backed away. _

"_Christine!"_

_It was Erik's voice. It was filled with pain. "Erik?" I shouted, trying to see him._

"_Save me, Christine!" he pleaded. "The fire is burning me!"_

_I frantically inched closer to the orange blaze before me. Finally, I saw him. His face was unmasked. His eyes were filled with terror, and the edges of his clothes were on fire already. I reached out my hand towards him, and for a moment, our eyes met. Then, the flames leapt higher and knocked me back. _

"_I'm sorry, Erik!" I sobbed. "I can't save you!"_

"_Christine!" He didn't have the chance to finish whatever he was about to say. The fire consumed him, and soon, I couldn't see him. I could only hear his agonized screams._

"ERIK!"

I bolted upright, sweat covering my skin. I frantically looked around the room, but it was empty. _"Save me, Christine!" _Erik was going to die! I scrambled out of bed, intent on finding him. I made it to the door just as it opened, and a pair of strong arms caught me. I screamed and beat against whatever was holding me.

"Christine!" someone said, but I didn't listen. I had to get to Erik! "Erik… fire… burning!" I gasped, still fighting to break free.

"Darling, I am right here! Look at me!"

I stopped struggling and looked up. When I saw Erik, alive and healthy, I started sobbing with relief.

Erik pulled me close, his arms wrapped around me protectively. "It was just a dream, angel. I am here now. Nothing can harm you." He began humming a lullaby, and I felt myself relax. I closed my eyes as my breathing slowed to a normal rate.

"Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?" he questioned.

His concern almost broke me. I didn't deserve this. I couldn't tell him I would be the source of his ultimate destruction, that I wasn't brave enough to save him. He had been right earlier; I was a selfish, spoiled child. I didn't deserve Erik's love. Yet, his love was all that I had, and I clung to it. My arms tightened around him. "Mine," I whimpered fiercely.

"Yes, Christine. I am yours," he assured me, though he must have been confused by my behavior. He lifted me in his arms and carried me back to my bed. I didn't let go, however; I continued to hold onto him. "Don't leave!" I cried.

He lowered himself beside me, and I snuggled against him. "I will never leave you, dearest," he whispered in my ear. "I promised you, remember? My precious, lost girl… You are safe now."

I began to cry again and felt all the more guilty as he comforted me tenderly. For, as he held me, I knew that I was not the lost one.

Erik was lost.


	36. Exquisite Torture

**My schedule has become ridiculously complicated and crowded, which doesn't mix well with re-writing. Thanks for all of your patience.**

**Chapter 35: Exquisite Torture **

_**Erik**_

I was sick of her. I loved her, but I was thoroughly tired of her. She refused to open her eyes and face reality. Heaven forbid one of her fairy-tales _not_ be true! After all this time, she was still childish enough to believe that I was a monster from whom she must be saved. She would not open herself to the possibility that the world – not I – was the monster and that she had already been rescued. No, that was impossible for her to grasp. She chose to believe the very society that nearly destroyed her than the one person who truly loved her. She was its prisoner as well as a prisoner of her own mind, and she lashed out at me for trying to free her.

I avoided her for three days. I hid from her like a beast. The fact that she searched for me during that time irritated me. We both needed time to collect ourselves after my indiscretion in the library. She even went into my room! I did not allow her to find me, though. I made her wait. I was too angry to face her. I needed to recover my shattered pride.

When I joined her for breakfast three days later, I did not spark any conversation between us. The foolish girl was confused. She did not understand why I was aloof. To my surprise, it frustrated her enough to cause her to sing quite badly. Finally, she demanded to know why I was angry. Angry! After the past week, she was still naïve enough to think I was merely _angry! _I could not help but laugh sharply at the irony of the situation. She was such a little hypocrite. She said one thing but meant another. She wanted to know the truth until it became something she did not want to see. Once faced with something unpleasant, she looked away. Even as I confronted her, she squirmed and tried to look away. I did not allow her the luxury. I made her look at me as I told her the complete truth. I put my heart on display before her and begged for her honesty. Then, I asked her the crucial question: _"What do you want?"_

She did not know.

Then, she said she was sorry. Again, she thought she could fix everything by uttering that simple word. She thought her apology helped, but it stung. It reminded me of her painfully young age and fragile mind. It reminded me that I was old and ugly and she was beautiful and naïve.

I left the room. I needed room to breathe, and I did not want her to see me lose control again.

Once I reached my room, I took out my violin. It was a shame that I was required to confine my music to my room. But, Christine was afraid of my music much like she was afraid of everything else, so I only played when she was unable to hear.

I was finished. I could not go on any longer. The girl caused me no end of anxiety. She was bad for my health. She had reduced me to a kidnapper. She would never love me. I would always be the man who stole her life. Never mind that it was a pathetic existence; it had been hers, and I had dared to interfere using the excuse that it was in her best interest.

As I vented my pain through my violin, I decided to remain distant and cold. If I did not, I would lose myself to her completely.

o0o

_I must be going mad._

The thought was on the forefront of my mind as I held Christine in my arms. The hour was very late, but I was not tired. I have never required a great deal of sleep, and I did not want to leave her alone. She might have another nightmare. She might need me again.

My resolve to avoid her was gone, of course. She was irresistible, especially when she cried. I was not strong enough to ignore her tears or remain silent as she lay tormented. She wanted me to stay, and I could not leave.

It was the most exquisite kind of torture, holding her that night. Not that lust bothered me; all I felt was the overwhelming desire to protect her. She had fallen asleep with her face buried in my collar, and somehow, her arms had entangled themselves around me. Her cheek would occasionally nudge against my chest, and once, she smiled and sighed contentedly. When I tried to pull away, she clutched me as though someone were trying to take her favorite teddy bear and murmured, "Mine."

That was all it took to convince me to stay.

It was all bittersweet. She was in my arms, so entirely adorable and vulnerable. But, I knew that when the sun rose, she would recoil from me again. She did not need me during the day time, where I was the only cause of her fear.

Yet, I still stayed. She was so close to me. Even though her mind and heart remained stubbornly distant, for a few precious hours, I could pretend she was mine. I could pretend that she would wake, and when the light revealed my face, she would still smile at me.

But, it could not be, for the girl in my arms was too weak. I cursed her for her frailty even as I loved her for it. I had fallen in love with a child. No matter how long Christine lived, she would constantly need someone to hide behind, to comfort her from nightmares, to reassure her. She needed both father and lover. It was a pathetic situation, but I would have eagerly become everything for her if she would only say the word.

She needed me. The fact that she screamed my name in her delirium _proved _that she needed me. She knew she needed me. That maddened me more than anything else: she understood we were co-dependent upon each other, but she fought it tooth and nail.

I understood why she fought, though. She was not angry that she needed someone. However, being needed frightened her. Her young man wanted her, yes, but he could easily find another. Christine was not the last girl he could ever love. But, to me, she was _everything. _She was the only woman I had ever loved, and she was the only woman I could ever love. I did not simply _want _her; I needed her as well.

One thing was certain: I was through groveling. My pride could not endure it any longer. If I wanted her to respect me, I had to restrain my temper. If I wanted her to love me, I had to earn it rather than demand it. I had to be patient with her. One day, she would be strong enough to realize how essential we were to each other. One day, she would accept me. I would wait for her. I would remain by her side, continuing to love her until and beyond the moment she became reconciled to me. I had no choice, really. I was bluffing when I told myself I would stay away from her. I loved her too much to deny myself the pleasure of her presence.

I sighed and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. She smiled and took my hand in her slumber. "Mine," she insisted again. I consented and allowed her to hold my hand as I kept vigil over her sweet sleeping form.

"Yes, Christine," I whispered gently. "I will always be yours."


	37. The Overwhelming Unexpected

**Don't get too excited; I only managed to write this thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration. I haven't had any luck finding the old chapters, so I'm having to reconstruct. The process will speed up eventually, but I'm focusing more on my other two stories right now. Thanks for all of your encouragement and patience. **

**Chapter Thirty-six: The Overwhelming Unexpected**

_**Christine**_

I hardly let Erik out of my sight for the next week. I was afraid he would just disappear one night, so I didn't sleep well at all, instead staring at my ceiling with wide, fearful eyes.

You see, as much as I hated to admit it, I knew that I truly needed Erik. Not that I loved him; I didn't think I could ever return his violent passion. Though he had said "yet," my mind said "never." I couldn't hate him and my admiration for him was undeniable, but my mind had built a barrier that refused to allow me to love him. At the same time, I couldn't bear to be without him now that I was without both of my parents. No one else was there to guide me, and after two years of heeding his every word, it was only natural for me to turn to him.

So, I followed him around like a skittish puppy wherever he went. I panicked if he wasn't where I could see him. And, though he didn't say anything, he began to grow annoyed by my pestering. As long as I shadowed him, he couldn't compose his _Don Juan Triumphant _or have alone time to think and create. He did his best to hide his irritation. He played song after song for me, he read aloud to me… he indulged me for five days.

We were going on two hours of chess when he confronted me. "What is going on?" he asked.

"We're playing chess," I replied. I started re-setting the board (he had beaten me for the eighteenth time, naturally) to avoid meeting his gaze.

He wasn't to be so easily deterred, however. He stopped my motions by reaching out and touching my wrist. I ceased my motions but didn't pull away from him. "You hate chess," he reminded me. "You have been acting strange."

"I'm not acting strange!" I insisted. "I'm simply trying to broaden my horizon and develop my mind."

A single eyebrow rose, and the right corner of his mouth curved upwards into a smirk. "You had me read to you from _The Old Man and the Sea _yesterday, Christine. As I recall, that was your least favorite book in school. I believe your words describing it were 'pointless, depressing, and disturbing.'"

He had me there and knew it. I blushed out of my embarrassment and tried to turn away, but his fingertips under my chin stopped me. "Why are you acting this way?" he pressed gently. I didn't answer; I _couldn't _answer. It was the strangest thing, but in that moment, he looked so very human that it was discombobulating. His hair was slightly messy and hanging around his face. He was only wearing a white shirt and the sleeves were rolled up. His eyebrow was still arrogantly, deliciously raised, and a confident smirk was still playing upon his lips. His eyes sought mine, and I stared into their golden depths. Almost without knowing it, I leaned forward slightly. His breath caught as my hand moved on its own accord to smooth a particularly unruly strand of his hair. My curious fingers lingered, surprised by the softness of his hair, and I watched his eyes turn into soft, golden lamps. "So beautiful," I whispered.

I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud until he stiffened and withdrew his hands. "Fine," he said, his voice suddenly cold. "Play your little games and keep your little secrets. Just do not mock me in the process." My mouth opened in shock, but he stood and swiftly exited the room.

I didn't attempt to follow him. I was too astonished by my slip. On one hand, I felt terrible. _Of course he thought I was mocking him, _I scolded myself fiercely. With a face like his – and if I'm going to be completely honest, I'll call it what it is: hideous – no one had ever called him beautiful before, at least not seriously.

But, what bothered me most of all is that I _hadn't _spoken in jest. In those few moments, I had honestly found him alluring. He had a face like Death, but to my surprise and wonder, I found that the thought of it no longer repelled or even shook me. In fact, all that had truly caught my attention was the powerful confidence exuding from him and the way his eyes had captivated mine… And, thinking of those beautiful eyes, the words had slipped from my lips…

I shook my head in utter bewilderment. _What is _wrong _with me? _I was going insane if I found a man who resembled a corpse attractive! I couldn't, _wouldn't, _allow myself to think this way! It wouldn't do either of us any good.

I rose from my chair, determined to uphold my resolve. I was almost to my room when I froze as I fully realized the impact of my turbulent emotions: Erik's face didn't bother me anymore.


	38. It Holds No Horror for Me

**1. This is a ridiculously long time in coming. My apologies.  
**

**2. I don't know when I can post again since spring semester is about to start. :(  
**

**3. I owe all of you.  
**

**Chapter Thirty-seven: "It Holds No Horror for Me"**

My thoughtless words ended the fragile friendship we'd developed. In frustration, I wondered if we would forever alternate between timid trust and avoiding each other at all costs. I knew I would spend the rest of my life with only him for company. I'd even accepted it, so I preferred for us not to be at odds. Smaller offenses blew over easily enough, but Erik must have been feeling deeply insulted and hurt this time. I'd broken an unspoken but well-understood rule: never mention his face. I could tell him all day that it was unintentional and he still wouldn't hear me. Could I honestly blame him?

Regardless, I knew what must be done. I had to tell him that his face didn't bother me.

Unfortunately, it proved to be a daunting task. I entered the music room firmly telling myself that I would tell him the truth. But, when I saw him stiffly sitting at the piano and refusing to meet my eyes, I lost my resolve. _Perhaps if I give him time, he'll thaw a bit, _I hoped.

That hope didn't last long. When his coldness continued for a whole week, I grew annoyed with his pouting. Seeing as he refused to make the first move, I knew it would be up to me to break the ice. One night, I approached him in the library after dinner. He didn't acknowledge my entrance; instead, he continued reading silently. Sitting on the couch, I stared at the flames within the fireplace, feeling a strange kind of loneliness. Just a few nights ago, we had finished reading _The Iliad. _Among his other talents, Erik is a master storyteller. His perfect voice made me visualize the battles, the wonderful heroes, and the heartache of those whose loved ones died. I would spend half the time just watching him, mesmerized. That seemed like an age ago as I sat across from this stony figure, gathering my courage as the only sound in the room was the fire crackling in the fireplace. With a tiny sigh, I at last spoke. "Erik?" I began softly. He made no noise or movement, his eyes remaining on the pages of his book. "Erik!" I repeated more loudly and insistently. When he ignored me still, the threads binding my waning patience snapped. I rose, marched over to his chair, and snatched his book from him. _Finally, _he met my eyes. "You would be wise to return my book," he advised calmly. Yet, I could hear the ripples of anger beneath his barely-controlled words. My first reaction would have been to meekly adhere to his demand, but I refused to back down. For once, I was going to make a stand. You can't survive living with Erik without developing a backbone, even if it's late in coming. "I know why you're angry with me," I said instead. "I need to explain –"

"There is nothing to explain," he injected and reached for his book. I swiftly hid it behind my back before he took it. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and mine quickly followed his example. His bad temper was beginning to rub off on me. "You have a rude habit of interrupting," I observed. "Now, will you let me finish?" He continued to glare but remained silent, his way of signaling for me to continue. "I didn't mean to hurt you," I told him. "I wasn't thinking. Well, I _was _thinking, but I didn't mean to say it aloud... I just..." I stopped, heat creeping into my face. "I mean... I mean..."

"It's fine, Christine," he interrupted yet again. "I don't want your pity."

"That's just it!" I snapped angrily. "I don't pity you! You are the most brilliant man I've ever known! You have the voice of an angel! You have my complete respect, but you do _not _have my pity!"

"My face –" he started.

"What about your face?" I demanded heatedly. "Don't you see what I'm trying to tell you? Your face doesn't matter anymore! It holds no horror for me now!"

To my dismay, he laughed coldly. "Oh, it doesn't?" he taunted. "I suppose the memory of it is not so terrible while it is hiding behind the mask. Or, perhaps you have forgotten. Tell me, Christine." He hissed my name like a snake and took a step closer. It took all of my willpower not to move. "Am I a handsome man?" His eyes were burning dangerously, and I swallowed. "No," I said quietly.

"No," he affirmed. "And, tell me: do you like Erik's face?"

I bit lip. I couldn't lie to him, for he would know, and his wrath would be terrible. I tried to look away, but he swiftly grabbed my chin with his hand. "Answer me!" he ordered harshly.

"No," I whispered, defeated.

Just as suddenly as he grabbed me, he released me as though my skin burned him. "No," he repeated, eerily calm. Still, I could see sadness in his golden eyes. "So, please do not tell me that you do not mind Erik's face. It is better left unseen, hidden away." My lips parted as though to protest, but I remained silent. My own affirmations had condemned me.

As I stood distracted, he easily stole his book from my loose grip. "Go to bed, Christine," he ordered quietly. "Leave and dream pleasant things without being haunted by a corpse." ''

My shoulders slumped. I was defeated. Resignedly, I turned to obey. I made it to the doorway, but I couldn't make myself step past it. A battle was being fought between us, one so significant that it would completely alter our lives. I'd found the fault in his wall, but surrendering would reinforce it so strongly that I would never break through. I was being presented with an opportunity that might never come again. Dare I take it? Dare I walk away?

On legs that trembled, I turned back to face him. "I can't," I said quietly.

This time, he froze. "What?" he asked, for once not hiding his shock.

I moved towards him. "I can't," I repeated. "I see your face whenever I try to sleep at night. It has haunted me ever since I first stole your mask. Even with your mask on, it's what I see when I look at you."

"What are you trying to say?" he demanded in a testy voice. Everything within me wanted to retreat at the tone of his voice, but I pressed onward, forcing my feet to continue walking towards his chair.

"Your face isn't handsome. I won't lie to you. But, believe me when I say it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm not afraid, and I want to show you that I speak the truth." I was directly in front of him. Carefully, slowly, I placed my hands on either side of his face. The porcelain was cool and smooth, and I marveled at its texture. I traced the sides of the mask carefully. Strangely enough, I'd never actually examined his mask. It was my perception of his face until I ripped it away so cruelly, but the mask itself was a marvel. The little details in it were fascinating, and it was very well-crafted.

Unnerved by my curiosity, Erik's hands moved over mine and held them still. "Christine, please do not ask this of me," he pleaded. "You do not need to do this."

"I think we both know that I do." My hands moved to the ties of the mask. His hands remained over mine and his grip tightened before I could pull the mask away. His eyes entreated me to relent, but I couldn't now. "I'm not afraid," I repeated.

"I am," he whispered. Those two words made my heart ache for him. For the past two years, the man before me had been invincible. He was the brave one, the comforter, whereas I was the coward. After all of this time, it was my turn to teach him a lesson. I squeezed his hands. "I know. Close your eyes," I instructed gently. Slowly, his eyes slid shut. His hands relaxed, though they trembled, and with great tenderness, I pulled his mask away from his face.

I stood for several long moments, really _seeing _his face for the first time. It was as I remembered it, but at the same time, it was different with him being tranquil. His face was still ugly, certainly... but once you recovered from the initial shock, it was hardly frightening.

Poor Erik. I didn't think of how anxious he must have been while I just looked at him silently. He wasn't used to people looking at him. "Christine, please," he whispered, his beautiful voice filled with fear.

"It's okay," I reassured him. Then, I began to trace his features lightly with my fingertips. His skin was rough and dry. A few raw spots were on the edges of his face from where his masked had rubbed the skin. _He must never take it off, _I realized, _not even to sleep. _"Does this hurt?" I asked him, worried his skin was too tender.

"No. It just feels... odd," he said simply, his voice slightly more steady. My hands moved to the sides of his face and held it. "Open your eyes," I said. He obeyed, and his golden eyes met mine, those eyes that had led to the cause of this whole scenario. He looked amazed. "You are... you are still here," he uttered. "Why are you still here?"

"Because I was telling the truth," I answered. "I meant what I said earlier: your face holds no horror for me now." I again traced the sores on his face. "Do you never take it off?" I questioned sadly.

He shook his head. "I used to remove it when I slept, but I did not want to risk accidentally frightening you again." He didn't say it accusingly; the only feeling in his voice was resignation. I couldn't believe it. I'd ripped his comfort and security away from him and shattered his trust in me. Yet, he still did his best to protect me. I was filled with shame. Those marks upon his face were my fault. "I'm so sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry my childish behavior hurt you. I can't take it back, but I can make sure it will never happen again." I stepped away from him, holding his mask. The fire was still glowing brightly in the fireplace, and as I moved towards it, the fire's intense heat warmed my face.

As I held the mask above the fire, he lunged for me. "No!" he protested, panicking. He grabbed my other arm and pulled me back. Somehow, I managed to shake free. "This mask is a prison, Erik," I insisted. "You want so much for us. I'm... I'm trying. I'm trying to be brave. But, nothing will ever change as long as this thing sits between us. You have analyzed me for over two years, known everything about me, and I'm just starting to know you. Don't hide yourself from me anymore."

He grabbed my hand as I moved towards the fire again. "I know," he said resignedly. "Just... do not destroy it."

"Why ever not?" I demanded, irritation beginning to rise within me.

"Because I need it," he answered. Seeing the hurt flicker across my face, he quickly added, "I promise not to wear it within the house anymore – at least, I will try – but I need it if I am to venture outside. Also," he continued, his voice growing so soft it was nearly inaudible, "I would go crazy if the option were unavailable."

We stood for several long moments. I was torn. On one hand, I wanted to burn the item that served as a brutal reminder of his disfigurement, but I could understand his reasoning and fear. He had lived with it for so long that he would be lost without it. Perhaps one day, he would allow me to burn it, but I had already brought him so close to his breaking point. Finally, I nodded and held it out to him. "Alright," I agreed. "Keep it in your room. But, know that you never have to wear it again if you wish not to; I'll never hide my face again, so you shouldn't have to, either."

He didn't cry, and I was glad, for I was already near tears. Instead, he silently wrapped me in his arms. I leaned my head against chest and wondered when on earth he had managed to endear himself to me. For now, I wasn't only Christine; he was my Erik.


End file.
